


Sherlock's Moving Palace

by abarelyfunctioning



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Bad guys are bad, Bad guys are good, Book 1: Howl's Moving Castle, F/M, First Kiss, Good guys are good, Jealous!John, M/M, Pining, Teen!John, Young people in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 44,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abarelyfunctioning/pseuds/abarelyfunctioning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the eldest of the three, John Watson is destined for a life of boredom and failure.  Nothing happens to him.  Enter one Wizard then another...  Then, all of a sudden, everything happens to him.</p><p>Basically the story of Howl's Moving Castle (the book version) with BBC Sherlock characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First round

**Author's Note:**

> I read Diana Wynne Jones' Howl's Moving Castle recently. I couldn't help but see so much of BBC Sherlock characters in the book's characters. This story is basically a fulfillment of my need to have that happen in writing.
> 
> Warning:
> 
> 1\. I haven't written anything decent since high school way back when, so my writing won't be the best stylistically.
> 
> 2\. This work hasn't been beta'd, and completely not Brit-picked. If anyone's willing to do it, let me know.
> 
> 3\. Completely inspired by DWJ's book and BBC Sherlock. Let me just say that the work is 60% DWJ, 10% BBC Sherlock references, 30% me. We can all pretend that this work was pretty much written by DWJ. Therefore, if you've read the book, then you won't see much of anything new plot-wise. Except maybe a few chapters. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> 4\. BBC Sherlock doesn't belong to me, nor does Howl's Moving Castle. I don't get anything out of this work.
> 
> 5\. If anyone has already done something like this before, I did not steal your idea.

John Watson was the eldest of three. His parents owned a ladies’ hat shop in a prosperous town called Market Chipping in the land of Ingary. Because he was the eldest, he was destined for a life of dullness and boredom.

John had a sister named Andrea. When John was four years old and Andrea was two, their mother died and their father married his youngest shop assistant, Harriet. Soon after, Harriet gave birth to the third Watson child, Molly. All three children grew up to be very handsome, although Andrea was known as the most attractive and charming. Harriet treated them equally and fairly, and did not favor Molly over the other children.

Mr. Watson was very proud of all his children and sent them to the best school their town had to offer. John studied the hardest but soon realized that all was in vain because the eldest of three would never have an interesting life. He would be stuck with mediocrity while Molly went off to seek her own fortune.

Harriet was always busy with the business, so John grew up taking care of his sisters. Andrea, unlike her brother, was angry at the fact that Molly was to be the most successful because she was the youngest. Whenever there was a hair-pulling between the two youngest, it was John who pulled them apart and mended their clothes. John was extremely deft with his needle and as he grew older, he made clothes for his sisters. Andrea’s dress he had made for May Day was said to be the most beautiful in the town and made Harriet proud.

When John was old enough to go off to medical school for good, Mr. Watson passed away, leaving heavy debts for his family. His children’s school fees had been much too high for a hat shop owner. After the funeral, Harry sat her children down and explained the situation.

“John, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the school. With the debt and keeping the business running, there’s simply no way of taking care of all three of you. I’m sorry, but I cannot afford to have you all in the shop. We even had to let all our employees go. So Andrea-”

Andrea looked up with glowing anticipation that highlighted her beauty even the sorrow of loss could not hide. “I want to go on learning,” she said.

“You will, dear,” answered Harry. “You will be apprenticed to Mrs. Turner, the owner of the pastry shop in Market Square. They are known to treat their employees like royalty and you will have a satisfying future there. Also, you’ll be learning a very useful trade.”

Andrea huffed in an unhappy manner and said, “Thank you, I’m definitely looking forward to cooking for the rest of my life.”

Harry didn’t seem to catch on to the underlying sarcasm and looked relieved. She turned towards Molly. “Molly, you’re too young to go and work so I’ve found you a quiet apprenticeship with Mrs. Hudson.”

Molly, slender and fair, opened her thin mouth. “The lady who talks a lot? Isn’t she a witch?”

Harry continued excitedly, “She is indeed a witch. She has a lovely little house in Folding Valley and clients from all over Ingary. She’ll introduce you to all the people in Kingsbury and you’ll be set up in life by the time you’re old enough to be married.”

Molly lowered her pale face and nodded.

John, listening, agreed with Harry’s arrangements. Andrea, as the second daughter, was never likely to have a big fortune, and she was put in a place where she could find a young apprentice to marry and have a decent life. Molly, destined to a big fortune, would have witchcraft and rich friends to aid her.

“John, you will inherit the hat shop when I retire. I will take you on as an apprentice myself and teach you the trade,” said Harry.

John resigned and accepted the decision gratefully.

The next day, Andrea went off to Mrs. Turner’s in Market Square and Molly to Mrs. Hudson’s in Upper Folding.

John had grown up helping around the shop and knew his trade quite well. He started the apprenticeship, making hats, with the help of the only remaining shop assistant, Sarah. While John sat in the small room in the back of the shop making hats, Harry sold the hats. Sarah was the only company John had but she would be gone a week after May Day to be married off to a silk merchant. John was rather bored with Sarah’s constant talk about her wedding plans.

As John sewed the ornaments onto the hats, he would listen in on the gossiping brought into the shop by the customers. He heard about how the Wizard of the Waste had threatened the life of the Queen’s daughter and how the Queen had ordered the Royal Magician to stop the Wizard. The Royal Magician, Sorcerer Mycroft, went to the Waste and was killed by the Wizard.

The black castle that had suddenly appeared on the hills above Market Chipping was moving closer to the town, blowing clouds of black smoke from its four thin turrets. The customers talked of how the owner of the moving castle, Wizard Sherlock, came into the town every night to steal young girls’ hearts.

The gossiping didn’t stop there. John now found out how Sally Donovan was a disgrace to the town the way she did her hair. Not even Wizard Sherlock would want her heart.

By the end of the month, the trend would go from the talk of Wizards and Sally to the talk of Andrea. It appeared that Mrs. Turner’s pastry shop was always packed with customers who wanted to make marriage proposals to Andrea. She refused them all, saying she was much too young to be married yet.

When the shop wasn’t filled with customers and their voices, John would speak to his hats.

“I knew Andrea would do well there. Good for her,” John would say to the moth-eaten brown hat. “She’s quite the beauty. She could make even you look charming, you dowdy thing. All the ladies in town would look at Andrea and despair.”

He would tell his ivory hat with pink flowers, “Aren’t you a charming thing! You’ll marry money.” And to the green hat with a golden feather, “You’ll always be as young as a spring leaf.” He told the grey silk hat, “someone in a high position will fall in love with you at the first glimpse.”

Sally Donovan came into the shop the very next day and bought the grey silk hat. Her hair did look a bit strange to John, but what did he know about making fashion statements? The hat shop became busy with customers as May Day approached. Everyone was buying hats and Harry remarked, “Maybe I was being a bit hasty when I made Andrea and Molly move out.”

In April, the mayor’s wife came into the shop and bought the green hat with a golden feather. The hat was the talk of the town and was in high demand. John with tired eyes would bring his unfinished work every evening up to his room and finish the hats. The week before May Day, someone came into the shop asking for the grey silk hat Sally Donovan had been wearing when the Count of Baskervilles asked for her hand in marriage.

May Day came. The hat shop was closed like most other businesses, while the townspeople went out and celebrated. John decided to visit Andrea and get one of Mrs. Turner’s famous cream cakes. He wore his old beige jumper and went out into the main street. Avoiding the crowd of people rushing past him, John went into a little alley. Somewhere overhead, loud bangs could be heard. He looked up to see Wizard Sherlock’s castle down on the hillside above the town. Blue and red flames were shooting out of its black turrets. Maybe Wizard Sherlock was offended by May Day. Or maybe he was trying to join in the celebration. Either way, John didn’t care. It wasn’t his concern.

By the time John reached Market Square, he could see crowds of young men and women dancing to loud music with lager in their hands. When he grumbled and rounded a corner to avoid them, a young man dressed in a black suit and a thick black wool coat approached him. John stared at the man suspiciously. The man stared back with piercing eyes, which made John feel more awkward than he usually did around other people.

“Hats or dresses?” the young man said.

“I’m sorry?” John replied.

“Hats or dresses? Which do you make?” the man repeated.

John, confused, replied, “Erm, I work in a hat shop. How...?”

"You are slightly shorter than average and naturally try to appear taller by standing straight around others. Even when you do that, your shoulders slouch and your back hunches slightly. This suggests long hours of sitting at a desk. Your callused fingers and habitual squinting of the eyes indicate extensive work with needles and threads, both of which must be in the pocket sewing kit in your left trouser pocket. A sewing kit is highly unusual for a young man to be carrying around - unless he finds it useful. You're obviously not very well off, considering the state of your worn-out jacket and jumper that have seen better days, so you must be working. Your age suggests apprenticeship. If you made any kind of articles for men, you would be familiar with the trends and definitely wouldn't be wearing anything you currently are, so lady's clothing it is. Dresses and hats, most likely - they require the most needlework."

The man in his mid-20’s looked at John in silence.

"That was amazing," said John. The subtle insults about his fashion choice aside, the deduction itself was very much spot-on. "Extraordinary, in fact. Quite extraordinary."

The man looked at John in surprise for a moment. "Really? You think so?"

John assured the stranger, "Yes! I think. Of course."

They stood silently observing each other. Or at least John was observing the other man. The man obviously didn't need to observe John any further. The stranger had a very pale complexion with prominent cheekbones and pale green eyes. The mass of thick, curly black hair was all over his forehead. The tight white shirt underneath his black suit and blue silk scarf emphasized his muscular features. For a person wearing a thick coat and a scarf in the middle of spring, the young man seemed very cool and calm.

“Okay, er, I should go. Excuse me,” said John with a hint of an uncomfortable smile and passed the stranger, avoiding him by creating a wide berth between them.

The stranger gave John a subtle nod and said in a baritone voice, “As you wish.”

John reached Mrs. Turner’s shop. The place was completely packed with young men calling Andrea’s name at every corner, and John had to force himself into the crowd to reach the bar, where his sister was serving. Andrea saw him and looked shocked for a moment and gave him a dashing smile.

“John!”

“Can we talk?” John yelled.

Andrea nodded and said something to the girl next to her, and grabbed John’s hand. Once she dragged John into the storage room in the back of the shop, she told him to sit on one of the boxes of flour and handed him a cream cake.

“It’s so good to see you, John," Andrea said.

John took a bite of the heavenly cake and replied, “Oh, I’m glad to see you, too, Andrea!”

Andrea looked onto John mischievously and said, “Well, I’m glad. But you see, I’m actually Molly.”

 

 


	2. Second encounter

“What?” John gaped at the girl who looked exactly like Andrea. She was wearing Andrea’s second best purple dress that John had made for her. She had Andrea’s dark brown hair and blue eyes.

“I’m Molly. Who did you see spilling wine all over Andrea’s shoes last year? I never told her. Did you?” Molly said slyly.

“No…”

John was stunned. He could see Molly’s slight slouch in Andrea’s shoulders and Molly’s habit of twiddling her thumbs when she talked.

“What happened? What's going on?” John asked.

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone. You’re so honorable. You’ll keep your promise.”

“I promise,” assured John. “So what happened? Why? How?”

“Andrea and I arranged it,” Molly said, twiddling her thumbs. “Andrea wanted to learn witchcraft and I could care less for it. She’s got the brains and she wants a future where she can use them. Mum wouldn’t have understood. She’s too jealous of Andrea to admit she's got brains!”

John couldn’t believe Harry to be like that, but he let Molly continue.

“I can be pretty clever, too. It only took me two weeks at Mrs. Hudson’s to find the spell we’re using. I found it in one of her books and asked if I could visit my family. She thought I was homesick and let me come back. I came here with the spell and Andrea went back to Mrs. Hudson’s pretending to be me. And I stayed. It was difficult at first since I didn’t know what I was supposed to do but it got better. People like me, you know. They like you when you like them. And I’m still here and Mrs. Hudson hasn’t kicked Andrea out, so I guess she’s doing okay, too.”

John took a bite of the cake. “But why did _you_ do this?”

Molly grinned widely and twirled her thumbs cheerily. “I want to get married and have ten children.”

John stared at his sister with a open mouth with the cake halfway to it. “You’re not old enough.”

“I’m aware. But I’ve got to start early to fit in ten kids, you know. And this arrangement gives me time and way to see if the person I want likes me for being me. The spell’s going to wear off gradually, and I’ll get more and more like myself.”

John exclaimed, “Why was I not told about this?”

“Well, I couldn’t say anything when you were so busy backing Mum up about me making my fortune,” Molly said. “You thought she meant it. So did I, until Father died and I realized she was just trying to get rid of us - putting Andrea where she was going to meet lots of men and get married off, and sending me as far away as she could! I was so angry that I thought, why not? I talked with Andrea and she was also upset and we decided to fix it. We’re okay now. But we feel so terribly about you, John. You’re far too clever and kind to be stuck in the shop for the rest of your life.”

“I’m all right,” said John. “Just a bit dull.”

“All right?” Molly exclaimed. “Oh sure. You don’t come visit for months and then turn up in that frightful jumper, looking as if even _I_  distress you! What has Mum done to you?”

“Nothing,” said John. “We’ve been rather busy. And don’t talk about Harry that way. She is your mother.”

“Yes, and I’m enough like her to understand her,” Molly retorted. “That is exactly why she tried to send me so far away from her. I scare her. Mum knows you don’t have to be unkind to someone to exploit them. She knows how compliant and loyal you are. She knows you have this thing about being a failure because you’re the eldest. She’s got you slaving away for her. I bet she doesn’t even pay you.”

John protested, “I am still an apprentice.”

“So am I, but I get a wage. The hat shop is making a fortune these days and all because of you! You are the one who made that green hat that makes the mayor’s wife look like a schoolgirl, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” said John.

“And the grey hat Sally Donovan was wearing when she met that nobleman. You’re genius with your sewing kit and Mum knows it! Now you earn all the money while she goes off gallivanting-”

“She’s out getting the materials-”

“Materials?! That doesn’t take her longer than a couple hours. I’ve seen her and heard the talk. She’s off in a hired carriage and new dresses on your earnings, visiting all the mansions and clubs down the valley! They’re saying she’s going to buy that big house down at Vale End and move there. And what are _you_ doing?”

“Well, Harry deserved some time to herself considering everything she’s done for us,” defended John. “And I’ll inherit the shop, I suppose.”

“How exciting!” Molly exclaimed.

Just then, an apprentice stuck his head into the room and called for Molly.

“Andrea, the new batch is up. Need your help!”

“On my way, Toby,” answered Molly and turned back to John. “You must do something for yourself, John. Andrea always said she didn’t know what would happen to you when we weren’t around to boost some self-respect. She was right to be worried.”

Molly went up to the bar as John yelled his goodbye and that was that.

It was dark outside and fireworks were lighting up the sky by the time John reached the hat shop. He thought back to his conversation with Molly over and over.

A week later, he went to speak with Harry.

“Shouldn’t I be getting paid?”

“Oh course, dear. That you should!” Harry answered, fixing on a lilac-trimmed hat. “We’ll talk about it as soon as I’ve done the bills this evening.”

Harry never mentioned the wage for the next week and John began to realize what Molly had been talking about.

“Perhaps I am being exploited,” John told the cherry-trimmed hat he was finishing up.

He put the hat down and picked up an unfinished blue hat. He looked around his workroom and stared at the heaps of hats waiting to be trimmed.

“Damn it, damn it all! What’s the point? What if I stop trimming you useless little things? You certainly aren’t doing _me_ any good!” John shouted, throwing down the blue hat.

He sighed and picked it back up. When he went into the empty shop, a young woman came in with a grey silk hat.

“Look at this!” she screamed. “You told me this was the same hat that Sally Donovan wore when she got engaged. You lied. Nothing has happened to me!”

“I’m not surprised,” John sighed. “If you’re fool enough to wear it with a face like that, you wouldn’t have the wit to spot the Prince himself if he came up to you in a crown.”

The customer glared. She threw the hat at John and stormed out of the shop. John threw the hat in the wastebasket. Well, goes to show how easy it is to offend people. This was why he didn't like talking to people in general.

There was a sound of wheels and horse hooves outside the shop. The shop door opened soon enough and a clean-shaven man in a nice suit stepped in with a well-dressed, slightly formless-faced person with reddish hair on his trail. Although John didn’t know much about suits, he could tell that it was an expensive clothing and he saw how well-polished the man was. He was of a slightly short stature similar to John, and he stared at John with big dark eyes and a fake smile, tilting his head slightly.

“Watson?” 

The man’s voice reminded John of a cobra ready to pounce on its prey. John could feel a slight chill down his spine but repressed himself from showing any emotion.

“Yes. That would be me,” replied John. "We only carry hats for women."

Paying John no mind, the strange man looked around the shop with disinterest.

“What a miserable little cubby hole,” he muttered.

“Well, you can always kindly step outside if you feel so strongly about it,” John replied. “You’re clearly not looking for a lady’s hat, unless you’re into that sort of thing. Of course, I'm not one to judge."

The uncharacteristic man standing by the door became paler and gasped. John was in no mood to care what rumors would say about the shop and glared at the rude man defiantly.

“I always bother when someone tries to set themselves up against the Wizard of the Waste,” said the suit-man. “I’ve heard of you, Watson, and I don’t care for your attitude. I only came in to stop you. There.”

The man made a flinging gesture with his hand towards John. John felt a sudden burst of wind that seemed to originate from nowhere. The formless man gaped at John with widened eyes.

“You are the Wizard of the Waste?” John’s voice quavered strangely from fear and surprise.

“Of course,” the man said. “And let that teach you to meddle with my playthings.”

“I’m sure I did no such thing. There must have been some mistake,” John croaked.

“No mistake, Watson,” said the Wizard. “Come, Sebastian.”

While Sebastian opened the door for his master, the Wizard turned back to John. “By the way, you can’t tell anyone you’re under a spell,” he said in a sing-songy tone and glided out of the shop.

John watched the carriage move away and put his hands to his face. He felt rough, leathery wrinkles. He looked at his leathery, skinny hands with large veins and protruding knuckles. He hobbled up to a mirror and looked up at a surprisingly calm face. It was a face of an old man, dark and withered with age with brown dark-spots and wispy white hair. Topped with yellow and watery eyes, he was looking rather tragic and devastating.

“Well, here is my miserable, boring life condensed into one tiny bloke,” he muttered to himself. “You look quite healthy for someone your age. That's a plus, I guess."

He thought about his situation. It was astonishing how he wasn’t all that much shocked. The transformation was rather exciting.

“I will have to do something about the Wizard when I get the chance. In the meantime, if Andrea and Molly can stand being one another, I can take this on. I’m obviously not staying here and letting Harry see me like this.”

John hobbled over to the door and put up the CLOSED sign. He went into the kitchen to get a parcel of bread and cheese. He carefully put on his black jacket, feeling the creaking joints, and went out of the shop. He shuffled through the empty streets, the field on the outskirts of the town, over the bridge, and huffed up the hill slowly. He soon realized that he was in desperate need for a walking stick.

As he looked around the grassy hill, he saw a stick protruding out of a small bush on the side of the road. When he pulled the stick out, he saw that it was the end of an old scarecrow with a turnip for a head. John put the scarecrow upright and leaned it against the tree next to the bush.

“Hello. You look even older than me. And that’s saying a lot. Maybe if I leave you here, someone will see you and get you back to where you came from,” John said to the scarecrow. “If I weren’t doomed to failure for being the eldest in the family, you would come to life and help me make my fortune. But good luck to you, anyway.”

John chuckled as he turned away from it and went about his way. Perhaps old age makes you mad.

After an hour or so of hobbling, he came up to a little creek and sat next to it to rest. He got out his bread and cheese and just when he was about to take a bite, he heard a low growl from the hedge behind him. He crawled up to the hedge and peered through it to find a dirty brown dog trapped by a stick and a rope around its neck. John got out his scissors from his sewing kit and sawed at the rope to let the dog loose. As soon as the rope was cut, the dog was able to drag itself out of the hedge.

“How about some bread and cheese?” John offered.

The unfriendly dog displayed its sharp teeth at him and dashed away, up the hill. John turned back to the hedge and grabbed the stick. It was a proper walking stick, well trimmed and tipped with iron.

“Oh, this could be nice. Very nice indeed,” he told himself and made it his very own cane. "You're mine now."

After a well-rested break, John set off to walking up the hill again. By evening, he was so exhausted, he grumbled to himself, “The only fortune I seek is a comfortable chair.”

John huffed and puffed up the rest of the hill and felt the sharp chill of the wind. He got to the very top and looked up to see that the loud huffing and puffing he had been hearing were also coming from Wizard Sherlock’s castle. He barely thought about the situation before deciding to go up to the castle. He had already been frightened and cursed by the Wizard of the Waste, and he didn’t worry about the possibility of Wizard Sherlock taking his heart, since he wasn’t exactly a young woman. All he thought about was the possibility of a fireplace and a comfortable chair.

“STOP!” he shouted at the castle.

The castle immediately came to a halt and John graciously hobbled toward it.

 


	3. Fortune

As soon as John reached the back door of the castle, to which he hobbled because it was the closest door he could see, the castle started to move again.

“Oh, no you don’t!” John shouted and grabbed hold of the door handle. “Open up!”

The door swung open and John scrambled into the building. While John laid on his stomach and panted to catch his breath, the door closed.

A young boy's voice said to John, “Who are you and what do you want?”

John turned to look toward the door to see who was speaking to him and saw a tall boy of about 15 years of age. The boy was quite handsome and was wearing a dirty white shirt and brown trousers. His dark brown hair and brown eyes suited him quite well.

“Are you Wizard Sherlock?” John asked.

“No, I’m Greg, his apprentice. Sherlock’s out at the moment and won’t be returning until tomorrow," the boy answered haughtily. "What do you want?"

John got up from the floor and looked around the room. There were a number of wizardly, magical things hanging from the ceiling - strings of onions, bunches of herbs, and bundles of strange roots. There was a wooden workbench on one side of the room, covered in leather books, crooked bottles with colorful liquids, and an old grinning human skull. On the other side of the room was a fireplace with a small fire burning in the grate. It was extremely small compared to what the smoke outside suggested. There were two comfortable-looking chairs placed right in front of the fire.

John excitedly hobbled over to the red chair, saying, “Ah, my fortune!”

He took off his jacket and handed it to Greg, settled himself into the chair, and took off his shoes. Greg hung the jacket on the coathanger standing next to the door, then picked up John’s neglected cane and politely leaned it against the chair. John realized that he couldn’t feel the building moving at all. Not even a slight rumble. It was odd.

“I’m afraid only Wizard Sherlock can help me with my problem. I’ll wait for him here, if you don’t mind,” John told Greg.

Greg did seemed to mind and hovered around John helplessly.

“Tell him the name’s John,” John said. “Old John.”

“You’ll have to wait for him all night,” Greg said.

That was exactly what John had wanted and he pretended to doze off in his chair. Greg stood staring, then he turned off the lamp on the top of the workbench and retired to his own room for the night.

John was pretty content with the situation. He was amazed at how nice Greg seemed to be for someone working for a vile wizard. Regardless, John had shelter for the night and he was okay with demanding Wizard Sherlock into letting him stay for more. Wizard Sherlock was supposed to be wicked, so John didn’t feel bad about imposing himself. If the wizard were to refuse, well, John would think of something then. John drifted off to sleep in the warmth.

In the middle of night, John jumped awake at someone’s loud snoring. He looked around the room to see who it was and all he saw was the fire turned very low, giving out irritating hissings and crackings. John felt a chilly draft on his back and threw a couple of logs from the basket of logs next to the hearth into the small fire. The fire grew and sent a spray of blue and green sparks into the chimney.

“Must be salt in that wood,” John murmured.

He settled into the chair more comfortably and sat staring at the colorful flames.

“You could be a blue face,” John said to the flames. “With a blue nose and green flamey hair. Wizard Sherlock should be able to lift spells, right? And the purple flames at the bottom could be your mouth… What if he’s not powerful enough to break the spell? You have savage teeth, my friend. And green spectacles. But then, if he were to lift the spell, I would have my heart eaten soon enough… Oh, wait, I’m not a lady,” John chuckled to himself.

“Don’t you want your heart eaten?” asked the fire.

John was sure that it was the fire that spoke, because he saw the purple flames move at the words.

“Of course I don’t. And what are you?” asked John.

“A fire demon. Name’s Mike. How you doin'?” answered the whiny voice of the fire. “I’m bound to this hearth by contract. Can’t move. And what are you? I can see you’re under a spell.”

John widened his eyes in surprise. “You can see it! Can you take the spell off?”

“It’s a strong one, that spell of yourn. Feels like that Moriarty git from the Waste.”

“Moriarty? The Wizard of the Waste?”

“That definitely be the name, yo,” replied Mike.

“Then yes, the spell is from him.”

“But it’s more than that, no? I can detect two layers. And you can’t tell anyone about it unless they already know,” continued Mike. “I need to study it to lift it.”

“How long do you need?” asked John.

“A while, probably,” said Mike. “Why don’t we make a bargain? I’ll break your spell if you break my contract.”

John gazed at the fire. “Are you being quite honest with me?”

“Nope. But you don’t have much choice here, you see. The spell shortened your life by about 70 years and you better take it or leave it, my good man,” Mike said.

“This contract you’re under,” said John. “It’s with Wizard Sherlock, isn’t it?”

“Yup. I’m fastened to this hearth and can’t move anywhere else. I’m forced to do most of the magic around here. Maintaining the castle and keeping it moving, all the while putting up special effects to scare people off. And anything else Sherlock wants me to do. He’s quite heartless, you know.”

John didn’t doubt that. Wizard Sherlock must have had to be pretty heartless to be so wicked and vile.

“Do you get anything out of this contract?” asked John.

“I wouldn’t have entered into it if I didn’t,” said the fire, morosely. “But it’s too much. I’m being exploited here.”

Although John knew Mike was being dramatic about it, he couldn’t help identifying himself with the demon. Harry had been quite terrible with John.

John said, “All right. How do I break your contract?”

The demon lighted up, “You in the bargain, friend?”

“Keep your promise. I’ll keep my end of the deal,” said John.

“Done!” replied Mike eagerly. “I’ll break your spell as soon as you break my contract!”

“Tell me how to break your contract.”

“Can’t do, sir. Part of the contract is that neither the Wizard nor the demon can say what the main clause is. You need to figure it out yourself. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to break your spell,” said the demon.

“I need an excuse to stay here for us to do that,” said John.

“We’ll think of something. Sherlock’s completely useless at most things. In fact, he’s too wrapped up in himself to see beyond his nose half the time. We can deceive him. Will you stay?”

“All right, I’ll stay. Think of an excuse.”

John settled himself into the chair and dozed back into deep, peaceful sleep.

 


	4. Blue earring

John woke up to warm sunlight streaming down his back. He looked up to the fire in front of him to see rosy charcoal amidst white ashes and thought that he had dreamed the whole thing. Maybe he fell asleep finishing up the hats back at the shop. But soon he realized that he hadn’t dreamed up the magical events of the day before - he felt the sharp achings from all over his body.

“Ow! I ache all over!” exclaimed John with a very weak voice.

John held up his hands close to his blurry eyes and observed the dark, leathery fingers.

“Once I get my hands on Moriarty,” John told himself in a sudden burst of anger, “I’m going to bring so much pain to that arse.”

He slowly got up from the chair and hobbled over to the window over the workbench. He was astonished to be looking out to the view of a dockside town. He saw an unpaved brick road lined with small houses with once-colorful walls faded by years of abuse from the salty sea water. Masts were sticking out beyond the low roofs. Beyond the masts was a glimmering blue body of water, a sight John had never seen in his life.

“Where in the world am I?” John asked the skull grinning on the workbench. “Don’t bother answering it, my friend,” he added when the skull didn’t reply.

John realized the flaw in his astonishment. He was in a wizard’s castle, after all. He looked around the room. It was rather small with several lamps placed at every corner of the room. The wall with the window was covered in an ugly brown wallpaper that made him dizzy. There was a giant yellow smiley face with four or five holes scattered all over it on the left of the window. John turned clockwise to the big dark-green door he had entered the building through the night before. There was a wheel of four different colors (currently green turned up) on the right side of the door. He turned clockwise again and looked at the wall with the fireplace and the chairs. There was a small sink by the hearth and a rather large cupboard over the sink. He turned again and saw a tiny hallway with light-green bamboo wallpaper and a narrow wooden staircase that led up to the next floor.

Another aspect of the room John noticed was that it was extremely dusty and dirty. Well, more like filthy, he thought. Although he wasn’t naturally the cleanest bloke in town, he had two high-maintenanced sisters who couldn’t handle a speck of dust on their bathroom mirror. Call it a force of habit but John had learned to cringe at the sight of filth.

He walked into the hallway of four black doors and opened the nearest door. It opened up to a large, luxurious bathroom. Although the room was immense and full of equipments one might find in a palace, John only noticed how dirty it was. He walked up past the growing mosses on the floor to the rows of glass jars and beakers. He picked up a jar of pink powder with a label DPYING POWER, written in messy letters. He wondered if it was meant to be DRYING POWDER. A beaker contained eyes. John didn’t even bother picking up the tube with the TOENAILS label. He looked over to the toilet and noticed a decaying human head on the closed seat.

“Oh, for f-” John yelled and hurriedly went out into the hall on weak knees.

The next door led to a small room where gentle snoring could be heard and John didn’t bother opening it all the way to look inside. It must have been Greg’s room.

The third one led him onto a dusty backyard with large brick walls. John saw a large stack of logs on one side, heaps of metal scraps on the opposite, and rows and rows of bottles of foul-smelling liquids by the wall directly opposite the door. After looking up to the open blue sky, John shut the door, wondering about the mechanism of this castle.

The fourth door opened onto a broom cupboard with two dusty blue cloaks hanging on the brooms. John went back out into the main room.

He opened the backdoor through which he had come into the castle, and looked out onto the vast grassy hillside. The wind blew his wispy hair as he listened to the grinding of the moving castle. He shut the door and went over to the window to see the seaport view.

“I don’t understand,” John remarked to the skull.

“You should put that on a T-shirt,” came an amused voice from the fireplace.

“What?” said John as he turned toward the fire demon.

Before the fire could answer, Greg came yawning into the room.

“You’re still here,” he said. “Breakfast?”

Just then, John realized that he had only had bread and cheese the day before. He was famished.

“Starving,” said John.

Greg went over to the cupboard and stared into it for a few seconds.

“I’m afraid there’s only bread and cheese,” he told John.

“But there’s a whole basket of eggs and a lump of bacon!” John protested. “Do you have tea? Where’s your kettle?”

“We can’t have these unless Sherlock’s here. He’s the only one who can cook when he bothers to,” said Greg timidly.

“I can cook,” said John. “Get me a frying pan and I’ll show you.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it. Sherlock’s the only one who can tame the fire demon. The fire won’t bend down for anyone else,” said Greg.

“I refuse to be exploited,” the demon said defiantly.

“You’re telling me that you can’t have a cuppa unless Sherlock’s here?” John asked incredulously and Greg nodded. “Then _you’re_ the one being exploited!”

John snatched the frying pan out of Gregs hands and held it to the fire.

“Now, Mike. Bend down your head,” coaxed John.

“Nope,” crackled the demon loudly.

“Come on, if I don’t have a hot cup of tea sitting in front of me in 5 minutes,” John said softly so Greg couldn’t hear, “I’ll go back on our deal or tell Sherlock about it!”

“Oh, bollocks!” cursed Mike and reluctantly bent his blue face. “I hope your bacon burns.”

“If it does, I’m feeding it to you,” said John as he cracked open a couple of eggs onto the frying pan.

“Oh, good morning, Sherlock,” Greg said from behind John.

John turned around and stared at the figure towering over in front of the main door. The young man in blue scarf and black wool coat leaned a violin and bow on the wall underneath the yellow smiley face. He hastily ruffled his curly ebony hair and curiously stared at John with his pale green eyes. His long, angular face was slightly tilted to the left.

“I’ve seen you before,” said Sherlock. “Who are you?”

“Nobody. I’m a nobody,” John said firmly, glad that Sherlock didn’t quite recognise the man he had met briefly on May Day. He turned around to tend to the bacon and eggs.

“He says his name is John,” said Greg. “He barged in last night.”

“How did he make Mike bend down?” asked Sherlock.

“He’s a big fat bully, man!” Mike muffled piteously under the frying pan. “Or should I say, a tiny old bully!”

“No ordinary person can do that,” said Sherlock thoughtfully.

He hung his coat and scarf on the coat hanger, came over to the fire, smelling strongly of hyacinths, and took hold of the pan. He cracked two more eggs and tossed the shells into the purple flames that burst from under the pan. He put another couple of bacon slices on the pan.

“Why have you come here, John?” asked the wizard as he watched the food.

“I’ve come because I’m to be your housekeeper, young man,” said John, staring at the blue jewel hanging from Sherlock’s left ear.

“Oh?” said Sherlock.

John could detect an underlying amusement and sarcasm in the wizard’s tone but let it pass. Sherlock wasn’t exactly welcoming John in, but he also wasn’t kicking him out. John held onto that.

As they cleared an end of the bench of the wizardly things and settled down with the food, John addressed Sherlock over the slurping noises Greg had begun to make.

“You can take me on for a month’s trial, if you like.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything and glared at his plate of food.

“If I’m going to be cleaning here for a month,” continued John, “I need to know where the rest of the castle is. I can only find this room and the rooms in the hallway.”

“Palace,” corrected Sherlock abruptly. “It’s obviously a palace, not a castle. I don’t know why you people keep calling it a _castle_.”

Sherlock went back to glaring at his untouched food with a grumpy expression and refused to open his mouth again. Greg hid his smile and continued eating. John was puzzled and confused until the meal was over. While Sherlock was throwing his untouched food into Mike’s eager flamey mouth, John asked Greg again.

“Sherlock has a weird thing against castles. He prefers the term, _palace_ ,” whispered Greg. “Personally, I don’t find the place to be nearly grand enough to be a palace. Call it a castle. Everyone else does. Anyway, there is no rest of the castle. It’s just the parts you saw and Sherlock’s bedroom upstairs.”

“But I don’t understand,” said John.

“Now there’s the back of the shirt,” mumbled Mike through the food.

Greg continued before John could address the demon.

“Sherlock and Mike invented it. Mike keeps it moving. The inside is just Sherlock’s old house in Porthaven, which is the only real part.”

“But Porthaven’s miles down near the sea!” John exclaimed. “Then what’s the point of having the huge moving castle and frightening the people in Market Chipping?”

Sherlock answered, “Palace. And I’ve reached the stage in my career when I need to impress everyone with my power and wickedness. Can’t have the Queen thinking well of me. I’ve offended someone very powerful last year and I need to keep out of their way.”

John thought it a peculiar way to avoid people, but what did he know? Sherlock was a wizard and magical beings must have had their own standards for things.

Soon after, Mike blazed up, “Kingsbury!”

Sherlock went over to the door and turned the color wheel from green to red side up. He opened the door. Outside was a pompous man in a white wig, standing stiffly with a wide top hat in hand. He was wearing scarlet, purple, and gold. He bowed toward Sherlock.

“Her majesty the Queen presents her compliments and sends payment for the four hundred pairs of seven-league boots,” the man said.

John saw glimpses of fancy coaches passing by a busy street behind this man. Persons clothed in expansive dresses and suits were leisurely walking by the huge sumptuous mansions with gold and silver gates that lined the street.

Sherlock took a chinking silken purse from the man and closed the door. He went straight to the bathroom with the purse as Greg and Mike eyed it with dismay.

“Hot water, Mike!” shouted Sherlock from the bathroom.

Mike blazed up and John turned to Greg.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“Red means Kingsbury door. The Queen lives here. The man must have been the Chancellor’s clerk," explained Greg. "I wish he hadn’t given the money to Sherlock,” he said to Mike.

“So am I allowed to stay here?” asked John to no one in particular.

“Well, he didn’t throw you out,” Mike replied.

 


	5. Housekeeping

The only thing to do, John decided, was to show Sherlock how much good it would do to have John in the castle. He had to show the wizard what real treasure John really was. He rolled up his jumper sleeves up to his elbows. John took out a broom from the broom cupboard he had found earlier. He was relieved at the fact that there were only four or five rooms to clean instead of a castle. He grabbed a rusty metal bucket from the backyard and came back into the main room to get started.

“What are you doing?” asked Greg and Mike, horrified.

“Cleaning up,” replied John. “This place desperately needs it.”

As the broom moved, the room filled with dust as if a heavy, dry fog had filled the place instead.

“Porthaven!” cried the demon a few minutes later.

Greg got down from the workbench and went over to the door. He turned the wheel blue side up and opened the door for a little girl, peering in anxiously.

“Mr. Lestrade,” the girl said. “I’ve come for the spell for me da’.”

“Safety spell for the ship, right?” Greg said. “Hold on a second.”

He went over to the workbench and put a bit of dark purple powder from a jar onto a piece of paper. He twisted the paper round the powder and came back with it.

“Tell him to sprinkle it over the deck,” he told the girl. “The spell will last until the trip’s over, even if there’s a storm.”

The girl took the paper and gave Greg a silver coin.

She peered past him at John and asked quietly, “Has the Sorcerer got a wizard working for him, too?”

Before Greg could deny it, John laughed heartily and answered, “Oh, yes, dear. I’m the best and the cleanest wizard in Ingary.”

Greg shut the door and looked at John. “Now all of Porthaven will know about you. Sherlock’s not going to be happy.”

Greg turned the wheel green up.

John cackled remorselessly. If Sherlock were to be unhappy, then the wicked man deserved it. Besides, having people know that John was staying at Sherlock’s might help persuade the wizard into letting him stay. He continued sweeping the floor as Greg went over to Mike and lifted a stone in the hearth to hide the little girl’s coin.

“What’s going on?” asked John curiously.

“Mike and I try to save up the money,” answered Greg. “Sherlock spends every penny he gets his hands on.”

John began sweeping the cobwebs off the ceiling. Greg went back to his work at the bench, and Mike sneezed at the dust.

Sherlock finally came out of the steamy bathroom, wearing his tight white shirt in black suit, smelling of magnolia. He glanced at the room with piercing eyes.

“Stop it, John!” he yelled at John with half of his face covered by his gigantic hands. “Leave the spiders alone!”

“These webs are a disgrace!” shouted John back.

“They’re an experiment!” yelled Sherlock. “At least leave the spiders alone! I’ll have to start over in my room, no thanks to you!”

Sherlock made a sweeping gesture at the ceiling and the spiders of all colors and sizes flew upstairs. Sherlock glared at John and stomped up the steps, following the spiders.

John continued cleaning the cobwebs and asked after a while, “So if green leads to Market Chipping, red leads to Kingsbury, and blue is Porthaven, where does the black side lead to?”

Mike languidly answered, “Black goes to Sherlock’s secret whatever.”

“It leads to my private bolt hole and nobody’s telling you where it is,” replied a whiny baritone voice at the bottom of the steps.

Sherlock crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed his violin and bow. He put on his blue scarf and coat, then opened the door with green up.

“When will you be back?” asked Mike despairingly.

Sherlock ignored the demon and stepped out. The door slammed shut behind him.

John assumed that Sherlock was off to hunt for young girls, and went back to cleaning more aggressively than before.

“I wish you would stop!” yelled Greg from the staircase he was sitting on.

“I wish I never made that bargain with you!” Mike coughed.

“And I wish I weren't so old!” John vigorously scrubbed the workbench.

By late that night, John was hunched in his red chair by Mike, attempting to rub some aching out of his left shoulder. Sherlock came back into the rather sparkling room.

Mike and Greg simultaneous shouted, “Sherlock, you have to stop him! He’s killing us both!”

Sherlock waved his hand at Greg and stood looking at John’s exhausted face. When John felt the attention and looked up at the wizard, Sherlock swiftly turned toward the steps and went up to his room.

Greg sighed and went into the broom cupboard and got out a straw mattress and some rugs. He put them all into the arched space under the stairs.

“You should sleep here,” he told John.

“Does that mean that Sherlock’s letting me stay?” asked John.

“I have no idea!” Greg was irritated. “Sherlock never commits himself to anything. He always gets bored with everything and everyone. Anyway, I was here six months before he seemed to notice I was staying and made me his apprentice. I just thought a mattress would be better than a chair.”

“Thank you very much, then.” John said gratefully.

John put some logs out for Mike to grab whenever he would get hungry during the night.

The following days were just as busy for John. He scrubbed every surface clean, telling himself that he was looking for clues for breaking Mike’s contract. Greg and Mike were weary of John’s constant cleaning and even the human skull began to look exhausted from being moved too often. John had Mike cower down while he dusted the chimney. Mike crackled when John got down to discover that the room was full of soot and had to be dusted again. However, it didn’t get him down. He looked for chewed up hearts of young women and clues of the contract, and possible ways to break his own spell.

Sherlock came and went. Everytime he came in, Mike and Greg complained loudly about John but Sherlock didn’t seem to hear. He didn’t even seem to notice the cleanliness.

Word had gotten around about Sherlock’s new wizard cleaner. John was known as Mr. Wizard in Porthaven and Mr. Sorcerer in Kingsbury. The people in Kingsbury were better dressed than those in Porthaven, but all were fascinated by the sight of John. Everytime a customer stopped by for a spell in either town, John looked up from cleaning to smile and acknowledge the curious visitor.

The next came the bathroom. Thankfully, Sherlock had removed the decaying head as soon as he discovered that John had a talent for ruining all of his experiments. The wizard was probably hoarding everything in his own room. John dreaded the day he would have to go up to clean Sherlock’s room. John thought about how the jars of EYES, HAIR, and SKIN might be filled with pieces of girls Sherlock hunted. He then tried hard to forget the thought as he moved them aside with a broom to scrub the floor.

That night, John sat in his chair to warm his aching feet.

“When are you going to stop this shenanigan and start breaking my contract, dude?” Mike broke the silence.

“How am I supposed to get the terms out of Sherlock if he’s never in?” retorted John.

“He’s after a lady for now, so he won’t be in much,” said the demon.

As soon as the bathroom was gleaming with John’s pride, John turned his attention towards Greg’s little room. It contained a bed and a small wooden box, which Greg snatched away off the pillow with a yelp as soon as John stepped into the room.

“Someone’s got himself a sweetheart!” John said and wondered how Greg kept this girl safe from Sherlock.

He swept so much dust and rubbish from Greg’s room that Mike was suffocating, trying to burn it all.

“You’re killing me, man!” croaked the demon. “You’re as heartless as Sherlock!”

Greg locked his box in a drawer of the workbench and agreed, “I wish Sherlock would listen to us. Why is this girl taking him so long?”

By the time John got to the backyard, Sherlock came in and remarked, “This place seems much lighter than usual.”

“John,” said Greg gloomily.

“Oh,” said Sherlock and went into the bathroom.

“He noticed!” Greg whispered to Mike. “The girl must be giving in!”

Came the day that John turned to Sherlock’s bedroom. It seemed to him that Mike did all the strong magic and Greg all the hackwork, while Sherlock went about catching girls and exploiting the other two. Just the way Harry had exploited John. With certain amount of contempt and vengeance, John shuffled up the steps to find the wizard blocking the door of the room.

“No, you don’t,” said the wizard. “You’re not to come in here.”

“But-” protested John.

“No. I don’t need nor do I want my room cleaned,” said Sherlock with no small amount of finality. “Control yourself. I have the right to live in a pigsty if I want to. Now go back downstairs and find something else to do. Except cleaning. Now.”

"Well, I'm your housekeeper, not your flatmate," John said. "What am I supposed to do if you won't let me clean?"

"I don't care. Something. Anything. Now go away. I do despise wasting my time quarreling and getting angry. It's tedious."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'll carry you," said Sherlock. "You'll find the idea of being carried especially hateful since you obviously lived your entire life detesting your smaller-than-average stature."

John glared at the wizard before retiring to the living room. He heard Sherlock slam his bedroom door shut.

“But cleaning is what I’m here for!” John said to Greg as he sat down in his chair. “Why does he even bother keeping me?”

“Who knows,” said Greg. “But I think he goes by Mike. Most people who come in here either don’t notice Mike, or they’re terrified of him.”

 


	6. Dancing men

Sherlock didn’t go out for the following few days. He might as well have gone out since the residents of the building rarely got to see him anyway.

“Probably sulking in his room,” Mike noted. “Or doing his useless experiments.”

John sat in his chair with a steaming cup of tea, thinking. He realized that he had been taking out his feelings toward the castle (“Palace,” Sherlock would correct anyone who would dare to call the place a 'castle' in his presence.) when he was actually feeling angry with the Wizard of the Waste. He was also quite upset with himself because he was staying there on false pretense. Sherlock may have thought that Mike liked John, but John only stayed for the demon's bargain.

Of course, this anger didn’t last long when John discovered a pile of Greg’s clothes that desperately needed mending. He set to work with his sewing kit. Sometime during the work, he caught himself humming a forgotten song his father used to sing to him when he was but a small child.

“Happy?” Sherlock asked from behind John.

“Overjoyed,” John answered without bothering with the wizard’s sarcasm. “I need more work.”

“Well, if you must keep yourself busy with mindless work,” said Sherlock, “My old shirt needs mending.”

John was rather relieved to have Sherlock talking to him again. He had been a bit frightened that the wizard might throw him out after the “quarrel” they had had at the bedroom door.

It was obvious that Sherlock hadn’t caught the girl he had been after. Everytime Greg asked about her, Sherlock ignored the question and changed the topic.

“Slitherer-outer,” murmured John as he worked on Gregs old brown sock. “Must be ashamed of his own wickedness.”

Another over-dressed messenger arrived at Kingsbury door with a long speech from the Queen. The speech was about asking Sherlock to help the soldiers move about the land more easily, without getting their wagons stuck in the marshes. Sherlock accepted the request with a smile that didn’t quite reach his glassy-green eyes.

“Tedious,” said he, as he closed the door. “Why did Mycroft have to get lost in the Waste? The Queen thinks I’ll be his replacement.”

“Sorcerer Mycroft wasn’t as inventive as you,” remarked Greg.

“I’m much too nice and polite,” said Sherlock. “Should’ve overcharged her even more.”

Sherlock was equally patient with the customers from Porthaven. Whereas he overcharged the ones in Kingsbury for the simplest spells, he didn’t seemed to feel the need to charge the Porthaven customers at all. Greg was not happy about that. Sherlock avoided Greg’s complaints by giving him a magic lesson.

John listened in during the lesson. If Molly could figure out a body-swapping spell in merely two weeks, John might be able to figure out how to break his own spell soon enough. He may not even need Mike’s help.

By the time the lesson was over and Greg seemed to have forgotten about Sherlock undercharging the Porthaven customers, the wizard took him to the backyard to create the spell for the Queen. John hobbled over to the workbench and looked at the scribbled notes from Greg’s lesson. The notes were made in strange characters John had never seen in his life. Or maybe Sherlock just had a terrible handwriting.

“These look like little dancing men,” he told the skull. “If Molly had found this lot, she’d still be at Mrs. Hudson’s.”

Sherlock seemed restless the next day. He only spent one hour in the bathroom that morning, and Greg put on his best plum suit. The two wrapped a spell in gold paper.

“You’ll only have to wait half the day before they let you in. Tell them a child with half a brain could make that spell. I’ll have a spell for you to work on when you get back,” Sherlock told Greg as the boy carried the gold paper out the door, red up.

“I’m bored,” Sherlock addressed John, roving the room up and down. “I’m going for a walk in the hills. Tell Gavin his spell is on the workbench when he gets back. And here’s your work.”

John assumed that 'Gavin' was meant to be Greg, and held the purple shirt that appeared on his lap. It was as fancy as Sherlock’s white shirt. Possibly fancier. Sherlock put on his wool coat and silk scarf over his black suit, took the violin and bow from under the smiley face, and stepped out the green door.

“Bored my arse,” grumbled Mike. “And what about me? How does he think I feel, stuck in this dirty little grate 24/7?”

“You’re still going to have to give me a hint,” said John as he looked over at the purple shirt. “Goodness, you’re a fine one. Definitely built to pull in the ladies!” he exclaimed at the shirt.

“I already gave you a hint!” hissed Mike.

“Well, you’ve got to be more clear about it. I’m not as smart as Sherlock is.”

John put the shirt down on the black chair facing his own red one, and hobbled over to the door.

“If I give you a hint and tell you it’s a hint, it would be information. Not allowed to do that,” replied Mike. “Where are you going?” He looked out of the grate.

John turned to Mike and shushed the demon with a finger over his mouth. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity and they’re both finally out!” John said.

He turned the wheel black side up and opened the door. There was nothing outside. John could see no color, nor could be hear any sound. He cautiously put a finger into this transparent fog and felt nothing.

“What’s this?” he asked Mike.

“No idea,” replied the flame, moving side to side. “I only maintain it. All I know is that it's super far away.”

John tried to look past it, but gave up and closed the door. He turned the wheel green up and went to the staircase.

“Don’t bother,” said Mike. “He’s locked it. Told me to tell you if you tried to snoop again.”

John turned back and went over to his chair. “What’s in there?” he asked.

“Beats me,” Mike replied. “I don’t know anything that happens beyond this room. I can’t even see outside the castle. Only enough to see the direction I’m moving in.”

John grabbed the shirt and began mending it.

Soon after, Greg came back. “The Queen saw me at once,” he began and looked around the room to find the violin gone. “Oh God, not the lady again! I thought she fell in love with Sherlock and it was over days ago!”

“Got the signs wrong, my good man,” said Mike. “Heartless Sherlock’s finding this one pretty tough. He’s been leaving the whole business alone for a few days to see if it would help.”

“Oh man, that sounds like trouble,” said Greg. “I was hoping Sherlock was turning sensible again!”

John threw the shirt down on his lap and chastised, “How could you two talk so casually about such wickedness! Well, I suppose I should let Mike pass, since he’s an evil demon and all… But Gregory-”

“Dude, I’m not that evil,” protested Mike.

“Don’t talk like that to us like you know how much trouble we went through because Sherlock kept falling in love like this!” pouted Greg. “We’ve had lawsuits and suitors with swords and mothers with frying pans. And the worst is when the girl herself turns up at the door with black tears. Sherlock goes out the window and leaves Mike and me to deal with them all!”

“The angry ones spit and the unhappy ones cry on me,” added Mike.

“Hold on,” said John. “What exactly does Sherlock do to these females? I heard that he ate their hearts and took their bodies away so no one could find them.”

Greg laughed heartily, “Sherlock sent me down to Market Chipping to blacken his name when we first set up the castle. _I_ said those things. The mothers usually say Sherlock eats the girls’ hearts. It’s quite true in a sense.”

“Sherlock’s shallow,” said Mike. “He works so hard to get a girl to fall in love with him. Once he gets his way, he completely forgets about her.”

“But he doesn’t rest until he wins her love,” said Greg. “I always look forward to the time when she falls for him. He’s so much better then. Sherlock’s a great wizard, but he’s not exactly what you would say, a good person.”

“You’d think he would have enough sense to use a false name,” John said, feeling somewhat foolish.

“He always does,” said Greg. “He loves giving false identities and disguising himself as other people. Even when he’s not courting girls. Haven’t you noticed that he’s Sorcerer William in Porthaven and Wizard Shadowfax in Kingsbury?”

“No,” said John, feeling even more foolish. “But he’s still wicked to make all these poor girls unhappy. He’s heartless.”

“He’s made that way,” said Mike.

Greg came over to sit on the black chair to tell John about Sherlock’s numerous conquests. As John heard the stories, it occurred to him that it was just as well that those terrible rumors about Sherlock were going around Market Chipping. Otherwise, girls like Andrea would get very interested and end up very unhappy.

They were getting ready for lunch when Sherlock came back with his violin, groaning with discontent.

“Lunch?” asked John.

“Not hungry,” said Sherlock. “Have you touched the spell shelf in the bathroom?”

“No, not at all,” John quickly lied, thinking back to the way he had looked for pieces of girls in the bottles and jars.

Sherlock searched John’s face for a moment then decisively went over to the bathroom, saying, “Mike, hot water.”

Sound of running water was heard and Mike grumbled, “Lots and lots of water. He must be tinting his hair. You better have left those spells alone. For a strange-looking man with red hair, he’s stupendously vain about his looks.”

“I did leave them alone!” John shouted and forced the frying pan down on the fire.

By the time Greg and John had finished eating, the bathroom door crashed open and Sherlock shot out, wearing his fancy white shirt and black suit trousers.

“Look at this!” he wailed. “Look! What has that one-man force of destruction done to my spells?”

John and Greg turned to look at Sherlock’s dripping hair. Something was indeed a bit different.

“If you mean me-” began John.

“Yes, you, John,” interrupted Sherlock. He pointed at John. “It’s always you. Look! Survey! Observe! My hair’s ruined! I look like a plate of eggs and ham!”

Sherlock pointed at his own head and sank into the black chair. John and Greg leaned over to closely observe the hair. It was still black but there may have been slight ( _very slight_ , John thought to himself) hint of bright green throughout. John thought of his own younger self with sandy blonde hair and wondered how he would react if such greenness happened to it. He decided to sympathise with the man in despair.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” John said soothingly.

“Oh, spare me your condolences!” replied Sherlock. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You just couldn’t keep still and had to make me miserable, too! I shall never go out again and I’ll die of boredom in here!”

The room turned dim. Huge, shadowy human-like shapes appeared from all around the room and crowded around John and Greg, softly moaning and howling. The room itself shook as if an earthquake was occurring right under their feet, and everything in it rattled violently. Bottles and tubes fell from the workbench and broke, spilling fuming liquids. Books and parchments flew by, creating their own mini-tornado around the room. Mike shrank back and flickered timidly under his log.

John placed a hand on Sherlock’s long neck and everything settled down as quickly as it had begun. The room brightened with sunshine and the air filled with silence as the papers settled themselves onto the workbench. Greg sighed with relief. John also let out his breath and took his hand off the wizard. He felt a very strange sensation as something sticky followed the hand. Greg and John watched in astonishment as green slime oozed out of Sherlock’s pale skin. The two bystanders took a step back when the slime glopped down the chair and created crawling green pools on the floor.

“Stop it,” John shouted at the motionless figure. “Stop behaving like a baby, you man-child!”

Nothing happened and John looked into Sherlock’s pale, wide-eyed face behind the thick layer of slime.

“Help!” yelled Mike from his hearth. “It’s putting me out!”

John hurriedly put a log in front of the fire to stop the slime in its track.

“Greg, open the bathroom door. Mike, hot water,” ordered John with the ferocity that had pulled his young sisters apart during their fights. “Scorching hot,” he added.

Greg helped John drag the motionless body of the wizard through the slime on the floor into the bathroom. They placed the body into the bath full of hot water, and scrubbed the slime off for an hour. It took another hour for Greg to persuade Sherlock to get out of the bath and into dry clothes. The white shirt had been ruined in the process and John let it soak further in the bath. John handed the newly-mended purple shirt to Greg to help put on Sherlock.

While Greg fussed with Sherlock’s sluggish tantrum, John went back into the living room and sighed loudly at the sight of the pools of green. He knew it was Sherlock’s open revenge on John. He opened the door, green up, and asked Mike to drive the castle forward. John pushed the slime out the door with a mop and washed the floor.

By the time all was tidy and normal enough for a wizard’s house, Greg had led the blank-faced Sherlock out of the bathroom. Sherlock was settled back into his black chair and sat staring into space.

John thought back to Andrea and Molly when they were having tantrums. He knew how to deal with those but thought better of spanking a wizard who became hysterical about his hair. He also knew that tantrums were rarely about the thing they appeared to be about. John made hot tea and handed it to Sherlock.

“Drink it,” he said. “Now, what was that all about? Is it the lady you keep going to see?”

Sherlock sipped his tea dolefully. "Yes… I left her alone to see if it would make her miss me and realize her love for me. She wasn’t sure the last time I went to see her, and now she tells me that there’s another fellow.”

He sounded so miserable that John almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He looked at Sherlock’s dry hair. By now, it was almost as green as Sherlock’s slime. John almost felt guilty. Almost.

“She’s the most beautiful girl to ever walk these parts of Ingary,” Sherlock continued. “I confess my love for her and she scoffs it off to feel sorry for another fellow. How can she reject me after I’ve devoted so much of my attention to her? They usually get rid of the other man as soon as I come along.”

John’s sympathy for the wizard? Gone.

“Why don’t you just feed her a love potion and get it over with?” he asked, keeping down his anger.

“Oh, no,” Sherlock replied, waving his hand dismissively. “That would be cheating. It wouldn’t be playing the game. No fun, no fun at all.”

 _A game, was it?_ John thought.

“Don’t you ever give a thought for the poor girl?” he snapped.

Sherlock gazed into his mug of tea and smiled fondly, “Only all the time. My lovely, lovely Andrea Watson.”

John’s guilt? Gone. He sat in his chair, feeling a sudden chill down his spine.

'Molly,' John thought with a great deal of anxiety. 'You have been busy! So it wasn’t anyone at Mrs. Turner’s you were talking about!'


	7. Insurance

A particularly bad attack of aches and pains prevented John from setting out for Market Square that evening. The drizzle in Porthaven had found its way into John’s weakened joints. He lay on his straw mattress under the stairs and worried about Molly. He would only have to tell her that her suitor was Wizard Sherlock and that would scare Molly off. He could tell her that the way to scare Sherlock off was to tell him that she loved him and all would be well.

John’s joints were still creaking when he woke up the next morning. He got his cane and got ready to leave. Sherlock was singing in the bathroom as though he had never had a tantrum just yesterday. John attempted to tiptoe past the bathroom door when Sherlock burst out of the room. He looked fine. The tight purple shirt did his muscular body justice. The clashing color of the shirt and his green hair helped John focus his attention on the wizard’s glowy angular face. The man smelled gently of cherry blossom that almost melted John’s stone-cold heart.

“My hair looks rather interesting in this color,” Sherlock stated with a bit of pride.

“Indeed?” replied John sourly.

“Andrea would surely notice me more,” said Sherlock. “You certainly have a touch with your needle. You’ve given the shirt more style, somehow.”

“Hmph,” John took it as a compliment.

Sherlock went over to the coat hanger to get his coat. He looked over at John and eyed the cane.

“Aches and pains troubling you?” he said.

“Oh, no, don’t mind me,” answered John with no small amount of sarcasm. “You only filled your bloody palace with rotten aspic for my old body to clean up.”

Sherlock smiled apologetically and said as he turned the wheel red up, “Sorry, I’ve got to dash. The Queen wants to meet me. I shall probably rot my brain in her palace until evening. I’ll do something about your rheumatism when I get back. Make sure to tell Geoff about the spell I left for him on the workbench.”

He smiled and winked at John as he headed out the door.

“Oh, yes, that should make everything all fine,” John grumbled, but he felt that Sherlock’s smile had mollified him a bit. “Well, if that smile works on me, then no wonder poor Molly doesn’t know her own mind!”

“Get me another log before you go,” Mike reminded John.

As John went to the fire to do just that, Greg burst out of his bedroom and ran to snatch the remaining loaf from the cupboard.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked at the door with visible irritation. “I’ll bring a fresh loaf when I come back. I’ll be back by evening. If the sea captain comes by for his spell, it’s at the end of the bench, clearly labelled.”

Greg turned the wheel green up and dashed out the door.

John asked Mike, “How do I get into the castle if there’s no one inside to open it for me?”

“Don’t worry,” said the fire. “I’ll open it for you or Greg. Sherlock can do it himself.”

John put some spare logs in front of the grate for Mike before getting up to go out. There was a knock at the door. John went over to open the door.

“Castle door,” said Mike. “But I don’t think-”

A turnip face peered at John’s face through the open door. It was the scarecrow that John had saved. John quickly stepped back when the moving stick-person covered in rags swirled to paw at him with its stick hand.

“Mike!” John yelled. “It’s trying to come in! Make the castle go faster!”

The demon crackled loudly and the grassy moorland rushed past. The scarecrow fell out of the threshold and John slammed the door shut. He ran to the window by the workbench to see if it was following the castle. Of course, all he could see was a sunny day in Porthaven with seagulls flying overhead.

“Oh, well, let’s hope that we got rid of the old thing for good,” he said to the skull grinning on the bench.

John discovered another drawback to being old. His weak heart caught up with the fright induced by the scarecrow and he heaved his chest in an attempt to get more oxygen into his body.

“Something the matter?” asked Mike as John sat down on his chair, clutching his chest.

“My heart. There was a scarecrow at the door!” John gasped.

“Why would a scarecrow do anything with your heart?” Mike asked.

“What? No, no. It just gave me a terrible fright. And my heart- Oh, what would a fire demon know anything about a heart?” said John.

“Hey, don’t go on judging without reasoning,” said Mike. “I've got a heart, too, you know. Right down in the glowing part under the log. I know more about hearts than you, young one. Can I have the castle go slower?”

“Only if the scarecrow’s gone.”

“Can’t tell,” said the demon. “Can’t see far out, remember?”

John cracked open the door and saw the scarecrow hopping on its stick leg about fifty yards from the castle.

“It’s still following us,” stated John. “Go faster.”

“But we’ve got to get back to where Greg left us in time to pick him up this evening,” whined Mike.

“Go twice as fast and circle the hills twice,” offered John. “Just get that thing far away from us or so help me!”

“As Sherlock would say,” grumbled Mike, “Tedious.”

The fire demon still increased the speed of the building. It was moving so fast that John felt rumbling under his feet.

By evening, John couldn’t see a glimpse of the scarecrow and the castle was at the intended spot. Mike was completely exhausted and went to sleep as blue and green glow under the log. John felt better by then and fished out Sherlock’s white shirt from the bath of water. Thankfully, the slime hadn’t stained the shirt at all. He splayed the shirt on the floor and cautiously sprinkled some of the DPYING POWER on it. The shirt dried instantly. Although it wasn’t green, it had shrunk a bit. But John was still satisfied with the outcome.

He felt cheerful enough to get ready for supper. He put everything around the skull on the bench to the side and began chopping onions.

“At least you don’t have eyes to water, my friend,” he said to the skull. “God bless.”

The door opened to let Greg in. He flew into the room with glee and dumped a warm loaf, a pie, and a pink-and-white box on top of the onions. He pulled John into his arms and squeezed tightly.

“It’s all fine, everything is alright!” Greg shouted. “She’s never even seen Sherlock! It was a mistake!”

“Wait, hold- Hold on,” said John, setting his knife down next to the loaf. “What’s going on?”

“Andrea!” Greg led John to the chairs by the grate. “Last night I wished you had dyed his hair pink! When he said ‘Andrea Watson,’ I was going to dye him pink myself. The way he talked, you could see he was going to drop her in a heartbeat. But to think it was _my_ Andrea- Anyway, he mentioned another fellow and I thought it was me! So I rushed down to Market Chipping today and it was alright! Sherlock must be after another girl with the same name. _My_ Andrea has never seen him before.”

“Wait,” John said carefully, “You are talking about the Andrea Watson who works at Mrs. Turner’s pastry shop down at Market Square, right?”

“Of course, of course!” replied Greg jubilantly. “I loved her since she started working there and I couldn’t believe it when she said she loved me. She has a heap of admirers. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Sherlock was one of them. I’m so relieved! I got us a cake from Mrs. Turner’s to celebrate.”

He thrust the pink-and-white box onto John’s lap. Onions fell onto the floor.

“How old are you, again?” John asked.

“Turned fifteen last May Day,” said Greg proudly. “Mike sent fireworks up from the castle for me. I know you’re thinking that I might be too young to be engaged. But I’ve still got three more years of apprenticeship and Andrea’s got even longer - but we promised one another and we don’t mind waiting.”

Then Greg was just the right age for Molly. And John knew that Greg was a nice boy with a stable future as a wizard. Molly was in for a good life. John thought back to the May Day and remembered the colorful flames from the castle’s turrets. But Sherlock had been at Market Square that day.

“Are you sure that Andrea was telling the truth about Sherlock?” he asked Greg anxiously.

“Yes,” Greg answered definitively. “I know when she’s lying. She stops twiddling her thumbs.”

“Yes, she does!” John cackled loudly.

“How do you know?” Greg seemed surprised.

“She’s my sister...’s granddaughter,” said John. “And she wasn’t the most truthful as a little girl. I suppose she changes as she grows. She, er, may not look quite the same in a few months.”

Insurance.

“Neither will I,” said Greg. “People our age change all the time. And she will still be my Andrea.”

Sure, not quite, but good enough for now, John thought.

“But suppose Sherlock approached her under false identity?” asked John.

“I’m not an idiot,” said Greg. “I thought of that, of course. I described him - he’s pretty hard to miss. And mentioned that wretched violin he doesn’t even know how to play. She’s never seen him and twiddled her thumbs the whole time we talked!”

“That’s a relief,” said John.

He truly was relieved, but not quite. He was sure that the only other Andrea Watson in the district was the real one at Mrs. Hudson’s. It certainly sounded like the strong-minded Andrea, not giving into Sherlock. John was worried that she had still liked Sherlock enough to tell him her real name.

“Don’t look so worried!” said Greg and opened the box of cake. “Here, let’s have some cake!”

John opened the box and realized that Greg had begun to actually like him. John was so pleased that he thought about telling the boy the truth about Andrea and Molly. The box opened and a beautiful white cake decorated with cherries and chocolate sprinkles came out.

“Oh!” exclaimed John delightfully.

The wheel turned red up and Sherlock came into the room.

“Cake,” he remarked. “Turner’s?”

“Erm, yeah,” replied Greg timidly. “They make the best cakes and I got us a pie, too.”

Sherlock walked over to the workbench and took out an onion ring out of the skull’s eyesocket.

“I see John’s been busy,” he said, holding the skull. “Couldn’t restrain him, could you, Billy?”

The skull yattered its teeth at the wizard. Sherlock looked startled and put it down on the bench.

“What’s the matter?” asked Greg.

“I shall have to sent someone to blacken my name to the Queen,” said Sherlock.

“Was something wrong with the wagon spell?”

“There was nothing wrong with the spell. It actually has worked too well, I’m afraid. The Queen’s trying to pin me down to something else. Mike, if we’re not careful, she’s going to appoint me the Royal Magician.”

Mike did not answer, and Sherlock looked at the glowing grate.

“Graham, wake him up,” Sherlock addressed Greg. “I must consult him at once.”

Greg sighed and poked at Mike with a new log. Nothing happened. 

Sherlock leaned into the grate and poked at the tiny glow with his fingers and shouted, “MIKE!”

“Go away,” said a tiny whine. “I’m tired.”

Sherlock stood up, alarmed, and turned to question John. “What’s wrong with him? What have you done with him?”

“There was a scarecrow,” John answered, squaring his aching shoulders. “There was a live scarecrow chasing the cas- palace down all through the hill today. We tried to lose it by speeding up the building.”

“And Mike complied?” Sherlock seemed perplexed. “John, you must tell me how you bully a fire demon into being that obliging.”

“I didn’t bully him,” John defended himself. “It was trying to force itself in and Mike was worried.”

“It was just a scarecrow, John,” said the wizard. “I hope you enjoy raw onions and cold pie for supper because you’ve almost put Mike out.”

“We’ve got cake, too,” Greg said.

They saved the onions and the pie for later and ate the cake instead. It was superb. Sherlock kept throwing anxious glances at the hearth. Greg risked asking Sherlock about what the Queen wanted.

“Nothing definite yet,” answered Sherlock gloomily. “But she kept mentioning her brother. Apparently, they had an argument before Prince Augustus stormed off. The Queen obviously wants me to volunteer to look for her brother. I should have kept my mouth shut about Sorcerer Mycroft’s being alive.”

“Why do you want to slither out of looking for the Prince?” asked John. “Don’t you think you can find him?”

“Rude,” said Sherlock. “I know I can find him. Augustus and Mycroft were great buddies, and the argument was that Augustus wanted to go and look for Mycroft. He didn’t think that the Queen should have sent Mycroft to the Waste. Even you must know that the Wizard of the Waste is a very bad news. He promised to burn the heart out of me last year, and sent out a curse after me that I’ve only avoided so far because I had the sense to give him a false name.”

John couldn’t help but awe, “So you jilted the Wizard of the Waste?”

Sherlock took a bite of the cake and made an uncertain face.

“In a way. I thought I was fond of him for a time. He is in some ways a very sad man, very much unloved. Every personnel in Ingary is terrified of him. You must know how that feels, John.”

John clenched his mouth.

Greg quickly said, “Do you suppose we should move the castle- er, palace? That’s why you invented it, wasn’t it?”

“Depends on Mike,” Sherlock glanced at the hearth again. “I must admit, I would love to plant the palace a thousand miles away, just to avoid the Queen and the Wizard.”

Greg’s face turned pale immediately. A thousand miles away was a terribly long way from Molly.

“But what about your Andrea Watson if you up and move?” John asked Sherlock.

“I expect it will be all over by then,” Sherlock said absently. “But if only there was a way to get the Queen off my back… Oh, I know!” exclaimed the wizard in excitement. “You can blacken my name to the Queen. You can pretend to be my old father and plead for your blue-eyed boy.”

Sherlock clasped his hands and placed them in front of his bow-shaped mouth. He flashed John a bright smile which had no doubt charmed the Wizard and Andrea. John’s heart fluttered and he worried that maybe his old organ was giving up on him.

“If you can bully Mike,” Sherlock continued, “The Queen should give you no trouble at all.”

John stared at Sherlock’s bony fingers and said nothing. This was the part of the story where he slithered out. John had to leave. He definitely felt sorry for Mike for breaking the contract. But John had had enough of this arrogant, childish, cowardly wizard. Tomorrow, he would slip off to Upper Folding and tell Andrea all about it.

 


	8. Herbal soothers

John was relieved to wake up to Mike blazing up brightly the next morning. If he hadn’t been fed up with Sherlock’s childishness, John would have been almost touched with how glad the wizard was to see the cheerful fire.

“Make sure to start on the spell, Gary,” said Sherlock after excitedly greeting the demon. “If anyone comes from the Queen, I’m away on urgent private business. I’m going to see Andrea, if anyone’s curious. John.”

Sherlock put on his coat over the purple dress shirt and picked up his violin. He turned the wheel green up and opened the door to the grassy, cloudy hills.

The scarecrow was there again. As soon as the door opened, it barged in, roughly shoving the stunned Sherlock to the side. The wizard gave a high-pitched squeak and the violin twanged onto the floor. John was too terrified to make any noise and merely stared at the scene with widened eyes from the hallway. Mike’s face leaned far into the grate, away from the sudden intruder.

“There really is a scarecrow!” yelled Greg as he jumped off the bench.

“What a brilliant observation, Gale,” Sherlock snapped and got to his feet.

He hastily picked up the violin and bow and leaned them against the wall. He turned to face the stranger, excitedly hopping farther into the room. Sherlock vanished and instantly reappeared in front of the scarecrow and placed his right hand on the blank turnip face.

“You’re not welcome here,” the wizard quietly said with an underlying tension. “Go away.”

A sudden burst of whirlwind appeared from somewhere behind Sherlock’s lean figure. The scarecrow received the full force of it and flew out the door and soared into the sky, quickly vanishing into the clouds.

“My sincere apologies for not believing you, John,” Sherlock said as he walked to the doorway once again. “That thing was alarming. I haven’t seen such strong magic in quite some time. Whatever was it - all that was left of the last person you cleaned for?”

John gave a weak chuckle. His heart was behaving badly again. Sherlock dramatically swirled around in his coat and strode back toward John. He grabbed John’s shaking elbow and sat the old man down in the red chair.

“Your heart must be catching up to your age,” muttered the wizard.

John felt something unnatural flow between Mike and Sherlock, because he was being held by Sherlock and Mike was leaning out of the grate. Whatever it was, John’s heart thumped normally in that instant. Sherlock glanced at the fire demon meaningfully and turned to Greg to give a bunch of instructions. He told John to keep quiet for the rest of the day, then picked up his violin and finally left.

It was a shame that Sherlock went to Upper Folding as well, but John would walk slowly to arrive at Mrs. Hudson’s by the time Sherlock started back. He just didn’t have to meet Sherlock on the way. John glanced at Greg, staring at Sherlock’s assignment at the workbench.

John muttered from time to time, “Bit stuffy in here.”

Greg didn’t seem to notice. He was intensely staring at a small piece of paper, frantically scribbling spells on scraps of parchment with a tiny pencil.

“Terribly stuffy,” John murmured again and slowly put on his black jacket. “Fresh air.”

John opened the door and climbed out with his cane. Mike had stopped the castle for him. John looked around him and took in a sandy road under his feet. It led directly down the hill to Upper Folding. Mike probably did it for Sherlock’s convenience. John looked back at the creaking castle. He was definitely going to miss Mike and Greg.

He took two steps down the road when Greg called after him from the castle door.

“What are you doing?” Greg shouted accusingly as he ran over to John. “Sherlock made me promise to make you rest. I can’t let you go. He would kill me if I let you out of my sight.”

John almost snorted loudly but thought better of it. Sherlock obviously only worried about him, now that John was useful. John really needed to leave before Sherlock made him go see the Queen.

“It’s quite alright. I’m simply going to see my other sister- sister’s granddaughter in Upper Folding. Hey, her name’s Andrea, too!”

“Upper Folding? But that’s over ten miles away!” Greg said. “Wait a minute. But Sherlock went to see his Andrea at Upper Folding! If she’s your great-niece, you must be worried about her. But I still can’t let you go... Sherlock will be furious if he sees you there.” He walked over to John.

“Well, I’m going,” said John defiantly.

“But,” Greg protested. “Oh! There’s a pair of seven-league boots in the broom closet!”

He grabbed John’s hand and led him back to the castle.

“Greg,” John panted once they were inside, “Seven leagues is twenty-one miles! I’d be halfway to Porthaven in two strides!”

Greg came back into the living area from the broom cupboard with a pair of leather bucket-shaped objects.

“Actually, it’s ten and a half miles a step,” explained Greg. “I know these don’t look much but these are only prototypes Sherlock and I made. The ones we gave the Queen’s army are later versions and much smaller and lighter. We can take one boot each. Just point yourself toward Upper Folding before you put the boot down.”

And they did just that once they got back outside.

Zip! The landscape instantly rushed past them in a blue and green blur. And in the same instant, the rushing stopped. Everything was sunny and calm. They were knee-deep in daffodils in the midst of Upper Folding village common. A cow nearby stared at them with dark, lazy eyes. Beyond it, thatched cottages were scattered about.

Carrying the heavy leather boots, Greg led John across the common to Mrs. Hudson’s house.

“Nice place,” Greg said as he hid the boots in Mrs. Hudson’s hedge.

John heartily agreed. The house was definitely the biggest in the village. It was thatched, with white walls between the black beams, and the front porch was crowded with flowers and herbs. The humming of bees filled the garden of honeysuckles and lavender flowers. The hot summer morning sun did wonders for the view.

Mrs. Hudson answered the door herself. The kind old lady with short, spiky golden-brown hair was wearing one of her pink flowery aprons. She smiled brightly at her unexpected guests. She had seen John a year ago as a boy of seventeen, and there was no reason for her to recognize him in the form of an old man of ninety.

“Good morning, dearies,” she said kindly.

Greg replied, “This is Andrea Watson’s great-uncle. I brought him to see Andrea.”

“Oh, I knew I recognized that face somewhere!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. “Please, do come in. Andrea’s a bit busy at the moment, but I’ll bring out some tea and scones while you wait.”

She opened the door wider. At that instant, a large golden retriever squeezed past Mrs. Hudson and ran across the nearest flowerbed.

“Oh, stop him!” the old lady gasped loudly. “He’s not allowed out just now! He’s making a terrible mess!”

Greg immediately chased after the dog while John and Mrs. Hudson panted behind. The dog rushed around the house before Greg jumped and grabbed hold of the excited creature. John followed suit and aided Greg to hold the dog back. It kept jerking its head toward the orchard behind the house in an obvious attempt to tell its holders something important. John stuck his face round the corner of the house.

Sherlock and Andrea were sitting closely underneath an apple tree in full bloom. Sherlock was holding one of Andrea’s hands and fondly looking into her eyes. Andrea was smiling lovingly back at his face. But the worst part was that Andrea was not looking like Molly in the least. She was her beautiful self and wearing a rosy pink and white dress that matched the apple blossoms overhead. Her dark hair glistened and her eyes sparkled at Sherlock with a great amount of devotion.

John noticed Sherlock’s head turning toward the house and quickly brought his head back round the corner. He looked at Greg holding the dog with dismay. And the dog crouched down.

“She’s a lost cause now,” Greg was equally dismayed.

Mrs. Hudson caught up with them at last and fiercely said to the dog, “Bad dog! Into the house, and stay in!”

The dog shook himself free of Greg’s grasp and slunk away round the house.

“Thank you very much for your help,” Mrs. Hudson said to Greg as they all followed the dog into the house.

“That dog may have the right idea,” said John. “Mrs. Hudson, do you know who Andrea’s visitor is?”

The old lady chuckled as she handed her visitors little pink teacups, “The Wizard Shadowfax, or Sherlock, or whatever else he calls himself. But Andrea and I pretend we don’t know. It was quite amusing when he first turned up, calling himself Billy Wiggins. He had forgotten me, but I hadn’t forgotten him, you see, although his hair used to be brighter in his student days.”

Mrs. Hudson continued, “He was my old tutor’s last pupil, you know. When my late husband was alive, I used to transport us both to Kingsbury to see a show all the time. And we used to drop in on old Madame Holmes whenever we went. And one time she introduced the young Sherlock to us. Oh, was she proud of him. She taught Sorcerer Mycroft, too, you know, and she said that Sherlock was twice as good.”

Greg interrupted, “But don’t you know the kind of reputation Sherlock has?”

“I’m sure they’re just talk people made up,” the hostess waved her hand in dismissal. “I said to Andrea, ‘Here’s your big chance, my dear.’ I knew Sherlock could teach her twenty times more than I could - Andrea’s brains go way beyond mine, and she could end up in the same league as the Wizard of the Waste, only in a good way, mind you. If Madame Holmes were still teaching, I would have definitely sent dear Andrea to her weeks ago. But she isn’t, and I said, ‘Andrea, here’s Wizard Sherlock courting you and you could do worse than fall in love with him yourself and let him be your teacher. The pair of you will go so far.’ I don’t think Andrea was too keen on the idea at first but she’s been softening up lately and today seems to be going beautifully.”

This time, John interrupted, “But someone told me she was fond of someone else.”

“Sorry for him, you mean,” whispered Mrs. Hudson. “There’s a terrible disability there. And it’s asking too much of any girl. I told him so. I’m quite sorry for him myself but it’s a fiercely strong spell. It’s very sad. I said to him someone of my abilities could never break anything that’s put on by the Wizard of the Waste, I said to him alright. Sherlock might, but of course he can’t ask Sherlock, can he?”

Greg sat glancing at the window nervously, in case Sherlock came around and discovered them. “I think we better be going,” he said nervously.

“Oh, pity. I wanted to show you around my garden of herbal soothers I’ve developed recently,” the hostess said as she followed her guests out the door.

John racked his brain trying to think of a good way to ask Mrs. Hudson how she knew Andrea was Andrea without letting Greg know the truth about Molly.

He finally asked, “Mrs. Hudson, wasn’t it my niece Molly who was supposed to come to you?”

“Such naughty girls! But clever, nonetheless,” answered the aged lady with a fond smile. “As if I wouldn’t recognize one of my own herb-based spells! But I said to her at the time, ‘I’m not one to keep anyone against their will and I’d always rather teach someone who wants to learn. Only I’ll have no such pretense here. You stay as your own self or not at all.’ And I do believe it’s worked out happily. Are you sure you won’t stay and ask her yourself?”

“Erm, we had better go,” answered John, apologetically.

Once Mrs. Hudson closed the door, Greg got their boots out of the hedge and the two travellers zipped through the green grass. Mike opened the door for them.

“Porthaven,” said Mike. “Someone’s been banging on the door ever since you left.”


	9. Magic conch

It was the sea captain, come for his spell at last. He wasn’t pleased at having to wait. Greg hurriedly got him the spell from the workbench and got rid of the man.

Greg went back to the bench to frown over his spell, and John sat in his chair silently mending his own socks. He had only one pair and his extensive moving-about had worn holes in them. His beige jumper was even more frayed and dirty by then. He wondered if he could use Sherlock’s shrunken white dress shirt and fix himself a new shirt. But he didn’t want any clothing that had hugged Sherlock’s lean figure to touch his own skin.

“John,” Greg called, looking up from his eleventh page of notes, “exactly how many nieces do you have?”

John quickly thought. “When you get to my age, you lose count. They all look the same. Those two Andreas could be twins.”

“Not really!” protest Greg at John’s surprise. “The Andrea in Upper Folding isn’t nearly as pretty as _my_ Andrea. I’m glad Sherlock didn’t meet my Andrea.”

The young boy tore up his page of notes and began a new page.

“I wanted to laugh when Mrs. Hudson said she knew who Sherlock was, didn’t you?” he asked.

John thought back to how Andrea had looked under the apple tree and replied, “No. I suppose there’s no chance that Sherlock could be properly in love this time?”

Mike snorted green sparks from the hearth. “No way, José,” he said. “Did he forget to spend at least an hour in the bathroom this morning? I don't think so. He spent two, I repeat, two bloody hours in there, putting spells on his face. The vain fool!”

“Yup. Exactly,” Greg agreed with the demon. “The day Sherlock forgets to do that will be the day he’s really in love. Never before.”

John thought back to Sherlock gently caressing Andrea’s hands under the tree and agreed with his peers. He thought of draining all the beauty spells in the bathroom down the sink but thought better of it. However, he did fetch the white shirt and shred it into tiny pieces with his scissors, and decided to make a completely new shirt out of them for himself.

Greg came over to the fire and patted John's shoulder. He then threw all seventeen pages of notes to Mike. It was clear that he was having trouble of his own with the spell. He scraped some soot off the chimney into a wooden bowl as Mike eyed him with confusion. Greg went over to the other side of the room and took a withered root hanging from the ceiling and put it in the soot. He went out to Porthaven and came back half an hour later with a large conch to also add to the bowl. He tore up some pages from a book and added them, too. The boy put the bowl in front of Billy the Skull and blew on them.

“What’s he doing?” Mike whispered to John.

Greg gave up when nothing happened. He sat back on the bench, frowning at Billy and the ingredients for a few minutes.

“I feel bad about spying on Sherlock,” he said as he began to crush the ingredients. “He may be terrible to the ladies, but he’s been very good to me, even if he still can’t get my name right. He took me in when I was an orphan.”

“How did that happen?” John asked working on the white pieces.

“My mother died when she had me and dad got drowned in a storm,” Greg answered. “Nobody wants you when that happens. Especially in a poor town like Porthaven. I was driven out of my house because I couldn’t pay the rent and everyone turned me away until the only place I could think of was the place everyone was too scared to interfere with. Sherlock had just started out quietly as Sorcerer William then. People said his house had devils in them, so I slept on his doorstep for a couple nights until Sherlock opened the door one morning on his way to buy bread and I just fell in. He told me to wait inside until he got back. I saw Mike and we started talking because I’d never met a demon before.”

“And what did you talk about?”

“He said he was in trouble and cried on me,” said Mike. “As if I didn’t have troubles of my own," he grumbled.

“You didn’t, though. Still don’t, I would think,” Greg said. “You just grumbled a lot. You were quite nice to me, though. And I think Sherlock was impressed. But you know how he is. He never told me to leave and he never said I could stay. So I started being useful around the place, like looking after the money he didn’t spend, and such.”

The fine powder in the bowl gave out a small explosion and Billy’s grin seemed to become wider.

“I think he didn’t even notice I was living here until six months had passed. But he still made me his apprentice and was really nice when I made mistakes… Well, as nice as he could get. And I do think I help with the money. Sherlock buys such expensive clothes. He always says no one’s going to employ a wizard who doesn’t look like he makes money at the trade.”

“Bull snot,” said Mike. “He just does that because he likes clothes.”

“It’s not just clothes. Remember last winter when we were down to your last log and Sherlock came back with the skull and the violin? He doesn’t even know where the bow’s supposed to go! He said they looked good.”

“What did you do about the logs?” asked John.

“Sherlock got some from Angelo’s down at Kingsbury,” Greg replied. “Apparently, Sherlock did some complicated magic for him years back and we’ve been getting all our logs free of charge from the guy.”

Greg focused back on the spell. “I don’t know,” he said grumpily. “There should be seven ingredients, unless it’s seven processes, but that would be a bit too complicated for me… John, I’m stuck. You don’t think you could possibly help me, do you?”

John looked up from his work and said, “I don’t know anything about magic, you know. But I suppose I can take a look.”

Greg eagerly thrust his strangely glossy white paper into John’s hand. The spell was printed in bold block letters and read:

          _Go and catch a falling star,_  
 _Get with child a mandrake root,_  
 _Tell me where all the past year’s are,_  
 _Or who cleft the Devil’s foot._  
 _Teach me to hear the mermaids singing,_  
 _Or to keep off envy’s stinging,_  
 _And find_  
 _What wind_  
 _Serves to advance an honest mind._  
 _Decide what this is about_  
 _Write a second verse yourself_

John was mystified and quite completely lost.

Greg tried to help by saying, “Sherlock actually told me how advanced spells have a puzzle in them. So I thought maybe every line was meant to be a puzzle. I used soot for the falling star. I thought I might count as a child, so I got a mandrake root. I wrote out a list of past years from the almanacs, which I’m not so sure about. And I got a conch for the mermaid singing. And could the dock leaf be the thing that stops stinging? Huh. Anyway, none of it works!”

“Honestly,” said John, “it just looks like a load of sh-”

“It’s just that I’m so ashamed of spying on Sherlock that I want to get the spell right before he comes back to make up for it,” said Greg.

“Alright. Let’s start with ‘Decide what this is about.’ That ought to get us somewhere.”

“No. It’s the sort of spell that reveals itself as you do it. That’s what the last line's all about. When you write the second half, stating what the spell is about, then it will actually work. It’s really advanced, I tell you. We have to solve the first bit first.”

“Why don’t we ask Mike? Surely, he must know something…”

“No, I think he's part of the spell. I thought the skull was involved because of the ‘Tell me’ and ‘Teach me’ bits, but it didn’t work. It’s got to be Mike, then.”

“Then Mike must know who cleft his own foot!” John suggested.

“Nope, I never had a foot,” said Mike. “I be a demon, not a devil.”

Mike retreated under his logs and kept to himself after that.

John packed away his white shirt pieces and sat next to Greg to think over the spell for the rest of the day. After supper, John finally had an idea.

“Why don’t we take this literally?” he said. “Greg, where do you reckon is the best place to catch a falling star? Out in the hills?”

“Porthaven Marshes are flatter,” replied Greg. “But shooting stars are awfully fast.”

“But so are we, in seven-league boots.”

“Oh, brilliant!”

Greg got out the boots from the broom cupboard and the two set out the Porthaven door. It was a clear night with enough stars to shine the whole street. John and Greg walked to the end of the street and continued on until they reached the vast flat surface of the Marshes. Light mist covered the surface of the pools, and the air smelled of earth and salt.

They got their boots ready and stood and stared at the sky, looking for shooting stars. Two hours of shivering finally paid the price when Greg spotted one of the stars falling from its place in a white streak down the black sky. Greg immediately took off in his boot. John followed suit. Zip! John stood still and heard the sound of rushing feet somewhere close by and followed, leaving his boot where it had stopped. He saw the star slowly descending toward Greg, and was sure that the boy would succeed in his quest.

John had caught up to Greg by the time the star landed in Greg’s hands. It was made of white light and lit up everything around them. Oddly, it was anxiously looking up at Greg’s face with big, blue eyes.

“What is it? What do you want from me?” the bundle of light shrieked in a soft, crackling voice.

“I only wanted to catch you,” Greg hurriedly explained. “I won’t hurt you.”

“No! No! This is wrong! It’s all wrong! I’m supposed to die!” the star crackled desperately.

“But I can save you, I promise,” Greg said gently.

“Wrong! I’d rather die!”

The light dove away from Greg’s hands and fell into the nearest pool. The black water sizzled in whiteness in an instant and went back to its original state just as quickly.

John hobbled over to Greg. The boy was staring at the black pool forlornly.

“That was sad,” John said softly.

“Yes,” Greg sighed. “My heart kind of went out to it, I suppose. Let’s go home. I feel sick.”

It took them half an hour to find the boots where they had left them and another half to walk back home.

“I don’t think I can do the spell,” said Greg dejectedly. “It’s much too advanced for me. I should talk to Sherlock about it. I hate asking for help, but at least he’ll have enough sense to consult me now that Andrea Watson’s given in to him.”

This definitely didn’t do John’s mood any good.

 


	10. Honeybee

Sherlock came out of the bathroom the next morning, while John was getting some eggs for breakfast and Greg was sitting at the bench with his unsolved problem. He must have gotten back while John and Greg were at the Marshes. Sherlock sat at his black leather chair gracefully, glowing and smelling strongly of apple blossom.

“My dearest John,” he remarked, “always busying yourself with the joys of physical work. Why has my best shirt been shredded into tiny pieces?”

“You’ve ruined it with your slime the other day,” said John. “I’m remaking the thing.”

“Hm, if you must keep yourself busy,” said Sherlock. “But judging by the state of the old seven-leaguers, you’ve been plenty busy with other things.”

“Greg and I went down to the marshes last night.” said John. “How did you know that?”

“You were also at Mrs. Hudson’s. Lest you forget, you can’t keep anything from me,” Sherlock said. “The barely-dry mud from the Porthaven Marshes gives away your whereabouts of last night. And I saw another type of soil that is only common in four different parts in Ingary. Upper Folding among them. It’s the only town close to home. The slight traces of honeysuckle pollen and a very specific type of herbal magic indicate the boots were at Mrs. Hudson’s. Also, I saw a glimpse of your big nose round the corner the one time I looked up from my beautiful Andrea’s face. No doubt nosing in my business.”

“Fantastic!” John quickly contained his astonishment and quickly added, “Mrs. Hudson is an old family friend. How was I supposed to know you’d be there, too?”

“You have an instinct, John. Unless you have a locator on me. If I were to court a girl living on an iceberg in the middle of the ocean, I’d look up to see you swimming through the water. In fact, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t see you.”

“Are you off to the iceberg today?” John retorted. “You must be done with Andrea by now!”

“Oh, no, John,” Sherlock sounded deeply injured, but John didn’t buy it. “It will be long before I leave Andrea. Besides, I’m off to see the Queen today, for your information!”

John and Greg ate their food, and Sherlock went out the Kingsbury door. After the meal, Greg said that he was sick of looking at the spell, and also left the castle to go see Molly. John continued with the white shirt pieces in his red chair.

There was a knock at the door.

“Porthaven,” said Mike.

John went over to the door and opened it. There was a middle-aged man who wondered if Mr. Wizard could help with his horse that kept casting its shoes.

“Hold on,” John had the man wait outside and went over to Mike. “What do I do?” he whispered.

“Orange powder. HORSE jar on the bench,” Mike whispered back. “The spells are mostly belief, anyway. Don’t be uncertain when you give it to him.”

John wrapped the powder in a square paper the way he’d seen Greg do before, and went to the customer with it.

“There you go,” John said as he handed the paper to the man. “You won’t need a smith until next year. A penny for the trouble.”

He accepted the payment and closed the door. It was a fairly busy day in Porthaven, as well as Kingsbury. With Mike’s help, John posed as a fairly plausible wizard. A bit of trouble came when a richly-dressed boy not much older than Greg knocked on the Kingsbury door. He was pale-faced and sweating, constantly rubbing his hands together.

“Mr. Sorcerer, please, for goodness’ sake!” he cried as soon as John opened the door. “I’m fighting a duel tomorrow morning and I need something to help me win. I’ll pay you anything you ask for!”

John looked over his shoulder back at Mike and the fire died down to a soft glow, meaning that he also didn’t know what to do about the customer.

“A duel you say,” John said, trying to buy some time to think. “It wouldn’t be fair to use a spell to win it. Besides, dueling is wrong.”

“Then I must beg you to give me something that lets me have a fair chance!” the bloke was certainly desperate. “Without help, I’d be sure to lose!”

John couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor boy.

“I’ll see what I can do,” John said and went over to the rows of jars and tubes on the workbench.

He put some of red powder in CAYENNE tube in a blue paper and took it to the customer.

“Throw it in the air when the duel starts,” John said. “ It will give you a fair chance but no more. The outcome will only depend on you.”

The scrawny kid was so grateful that he thrust John a gold piece and cheerfully went away.

“I feel like a fraud,” John said to Mike after putting the gold piece in Greg’s hiding place. “But I would like to go see the fight!”

“Me too, man,” said Mike. “When are you going to release me from this forsaken place?”

“I still need a hint,” replied John.

“You just might get one later today,” Mike said.

Greg breezed into the castle later that day. John and the boy sat on the chairs by the fire and talked about their day. Later in the evening, Sherlock came in from Kingsbury with a frown.

“You don’t seem all too happy. Something the matter?” John asked.

“Brilliant deduction, John. I must be rubbing off on you,” the wizard retorted. “As a matter of fact, yes, all hell is breaking loose. The Queen has asked me to look for her brother - with a strong hint that destroying Moriarty would also come in handy.”

He sulked into his chair when Greg left it.

“I’ll make some tea,” John said.

“Tea, you say? Is that all you can do in the face of tragedy? No, let’s not give up just yet. I’ve got some stuff for you so the least you can do is to say thank you,” Sherlock said haughtily.

Sherlock conjured up a heap of parcels from the air onto the floor. John, curious, unwrapped the things. Several pairs of silk socks, a navy fleece peacoat, and the finest grey suit John had ever seen. Well, apart from the ones John had seen Sherlock and the Wizard of the Waste wear. There were also a pair of black dress shoes, a dark blue shirt that matched John’s deep-blue eyes, and two silk neckties - one was white with a single honeybee at the bottom and another was striped with interchanging black and gold. Every single piece of article must have cost a fortune. John carefully stroked the coat.

Greg unwrapped his own parcel and produced a blue-and-silver velvet suit.

“It may seem a bit much to you people,” Sherlock said, “But I refuse to send my father to the Queen to blacken my name in rags. She would think I didn’t look after my old man properly. Well, do the shoes fit your huge feet, my dear hobbit?”

John assumed a ‘hobbit’ was one of those obscure wizardly things. “Whatever game you’re playing, thank you, but no. I’m not doing it.”

“What?” Sherlock looked stunned. “You’re being ridiculous. If you don’t do it, we’ll have to move a thousand miles away. Don’t be an idiot, John.”

John looked up and glared at Sherlock.

“What? Oh, don’t be like that. Practically everyone is,” Sherlock dismissed John’s anger then quickly added, “Of course, I’m not saying that _you_ are.”

John thought about the situation. Both his sisters’ happiness clearly depended on his decision, and the Queen’s happiness he could honestly care less about.

“You didn’t ask me to do anything,” said John. “You simply said I’m going to do it.”

Sherlock smiled one of his genuine smiles that quickened John’s heart for a moment.

“Will you go to the Queen as my father and blacken my name, my dearest John?” he asked politely.

“All right. When do I go?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Although you had better be at the Palace by noon. Gordon will go with you as your footman.”

Sherlock proceeded to explain what John was to say to the Queen in extensive detail. He was jubilant now that John had agreed to do the job. John wanted to slap the man.

“I need you to do a delicate job so that the Queen will keep on giving me work, but not trust me with things like her brother. Explain to her how I’ve angered the Wizard of the Waste but how good a son I am to you. You have to make her understand how I’m really quite useless.”

Sherlock went on giving directions and John really longed for a paper and pen to take notes. If he were to say all this to the Queen, Her Majesty wouldn’t understand a word and think he had gone senile with old age.

As the wizard babbled on, Greg hovered behind him with the spell. Sherlock was in his own mind, constantly coming up with new things for John to tell the Queen.

“Not now, Gerald. It occurred to me, John, that you would need to practice in order to not find the Queen’s Palace overwhelming. So I arranged for you to visit my old tutor, Madame Holmes. She’s a grand old thing. Grander than the Queen, I might add. So you will be quite used to the luxury by the time you’ve reached the Palace.”

John desperately wanted to cancel their agreement. It was just too much for his faint, old heart.

“Now, Gunther,” Sherlock turned to Greg, “What is it?”

Greg waved the shiny paper and explained how impossible this spell was for him to do. Sherlock seemed confused and took the paper to read it. One of his eyebrows shot up in an instant.

“I thought it might be a riddle and tried to work it out, but none of it seemed to work,” explained Greg. “Then John had the idea of actually doing what it says. We tried to catch the falling star-”

Sherlock held up a hand to stop the boy and said, “This isn’t the spell I left you. Now where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Greg said, fairly perplexed.

“The spell I left you on the bench. Where is the spell? Did you eat it? Where is it?” Sherlock interrogated urgently.

“But this is the spell you left on the bench - there wasn’t anything else,” answered Greg sheepishly.

Sherlock went over to the workbench, and searched and came up with nothing. He looked over to the skull.

“Your doing, Billy? I had a notion you’ve come from there. I’m sure the violin had,” he murmured and turned to John. “John, have you by any chance turned the wheel black up and stuck your big nose out the door?”

“Just a finger,” John said unashamed.

“You opened the door. The thing George thinks is a spell came in through it.”

“If it’s not a spell, then what is it?” Greg asked.

“‘Decide what this is about. Write a second verse!’” Sherlock snorted. “Let me kindly walk you through this.”

Sherlock went over to the coat hanger and took down his coat.

“Did I hear you say you tried to catch a shooting star?” he asked Greg.

“Yes, but it was scared stiff and fell out of my hands and drowned in a pool,” the boy answered.

“Thank God!”

“It was sad,” John remarked.

“Sad, you say?” Sherlock retorted. “It was your idea, wasn’t it, you ridiculous man! That was the most idiotic thing he’s ever done in his life. It would have been much more than sad if he actually caught that thing! And-”

Mike flickered lazily and interrupted, “So what, dude? You caught one yourself, didn’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t say I don’t regret it still,” Sherlock said calmly and turned to Greg. “Promise me you’ll never attempt such a thing again.”

“I promise,” Greg replied eagerly. “But what exactly is that, if it’s not a spell?”

“It’s called ‘Song’ - and I suppose that’s what it is. But it’s not all here and I can’t remember the rest. I’ll have to find it.”

Sherlock went over to the door and turned the wheel black up. He turned to face the crowd before opening the door.

“Come along, the both of you. I want to keep an eye on you before you do another foolish thing while I’m gone.”

He opened the door and vanished into the nothingness. John and Greg rushed past the parcels on the floor toward the door.

Mike called out, “Tell me what’s out there when you get back! And you got your hint, by the way.”

“Did I?” John muttered to himself and forgot about it as he hurried out the door, following Greg.

 


	11. Paint shop

Apparently, the nothingness was only an inch-thick. Beyond, the view was of a grey, drizzling afternoon. John followed Sherlock and Greg down a flat, cement road lined with rows of identical houses on both sides. John looked back to see that the castle had become a large structure of dark brick that looked exactly like all the other houses around him. An enormous red sign that read ‘Speedy’s’ was positioned over the large windows right next to the door John had come out of. The door had gold ‘221B’ over a small door-knocker in the middle. The streets were mostly empty, possibly due to the drizzle.

“Are you done nosing?” Sherlock asked impatiently at the edge of the street.

His outfit of purple shirt, black suit, and dark wool coat had changed into an arrangement of baggy gray trousers, black shirt, and navy jacket. Overall, the outfit hung onto Sherlock’s figure in an extremely worn, shabby, and filthy manner. His neatly combed hair had also become shaggy, and his face was adorned with dirty stubble.

Greg’s new outfit of a white shirt, blue trousers, and brown jacket were noticeably cleaner than Sherlock’s, but was equally unnoticeable and quite ordinary. John was wearing blue trousers of the same type of material as Greg’s new ones, and he noticed how difficult it was for him to bend his knees. He was wearing a blue-and-black striped sweater with his own black jacket. John looked down at their feet and noticed that the shoes hadn’t changed, apart from Sherlock’s new white things that were just as dirty and worn as his clothing.

“Nobody notices the shoes,” said Sherlock and turned toward a strange, black horseless wagon that was coming down the road. “Taxi!” he called out with his right arm raised.

They crammed into the wagon and were driven to another strange area of rows of houses. Sherlock led them out and got in front of one of the doors. There was a sign next to the door saying LAURISTON GARDENS. Sherlock knocked on the door and a tall man came out.

“Scott!” the man was clearly startled.

The three guests went into the house. A small girl, who had been watching a big black box with moving pictures in it, ran into Sherlock’s open arms with a broad smile.

“Uncle Scotty!” the girl exclaimed. “Oomph, you smell bad.”

“Sherrin!” Sherlock grinned at the little girl. “I’m on a case. Undercover.”

They looked at each other as if they were telepathically communicating with their eyes, then Sherlock turned toward his companions.

“This is my niece, Sherrin, and my brother, Sigerson Williams,” he said. “Sig, this is Galahad Lestrade and John.”

Greg rubbed his face with his right hand in clear frustration and John thought, ‘ _Galahad_? You can make up a name like that but can’t remember a simple one like Greg?’

Sigerson Williams’ face was angular like Sherlock’s but with much softer eyes and laugh lines along the sides of the mouth. The man, older than Sherlock by at least a whole decade, was clearly not happy with his brother’s sudden appearance.

“What are you doing here, Scott?” he sighed.

“I can’t stay. Still on a case,” Sherlock answered with a fake smile lingering at his mouth. “Just came by to introduce you to my friends.” At that, Sigerson’s eyebrow raised in disbelief. “And to ask you something that may sound a bit silly. Has Ford by any chance lost a piece of English homework lately?"

“Funny you should mention it,” the older brother said. “He’s been looking everywhere for it. Got himself a new English teacher, a very strict lady. She puts the fear of God into them about getting work in on time. Which, I would say, actually does the lazy boy some good. He’s been turning the place upside down looking for his assignment and all he came up with was this weird-looking piece of parchment with funny writing. I mean, who even uses parchment these days?”

“Ah,” Sherlock said. “What did he do with the parchment?”

“Showed it to Miss Adler. To show her he tried for once. Ask Ford for the details you love so much. He’s up in his bedroom.”

“Come on,” Sherlock carried Sherrin and went upstairs.

Greg and John followed the wizard into a small yellow room. A pudgy boy, a few years younger than Greg, was sitting in front of a brown box with moving pictures, aggressively pushing black and red buttons on a shiny flat packet in his hands.

“Ford!” Sherlock shouted, putting Sherrin down.

“Shh,” Ford said. “He’s going to die.”

Sherlock strode over to the box of moving pictures and did something to make the colors disappear.

“Uncle!” Ford whined. “You’ve done killed him! What do you want?”

“I’ll leave you alone once you’ve answered my question.”

“Well then, Uncle Scott, ask your question and be gone.”

“Take a look at this and tell me what it is,” Sherlock said as he handed the boy the paper.

“It’s the homework Miss Adler’s assigned us last week! Wherever did you find it? Was that funny writing I found yours, then? Miss Adler said it was interesting and took it home with her.”

“Thank you. Where does she live?”

“The flat by St. Bart’s. The one you took me to years ago when you were on that case with the pink lady. Now will you leave me alone?”

“First, tell me how the rest of the poem goes.”

“Well, I don’t remember. I can’t even remember how the first part goes and I have it in my hand!”

“I see,” Sherlock said and swished out of the room with the paper.

Greg and John looked at each other and followed Sherlock downstairs, leaving Sherrin and Ford with their moving pictures. On the steps, they heard an argument from below. Sigerson’s low voice was rumbling with anger.

“-You keep coming here looking like you desperately need a shower, and what am I supposed to say to the kids when they ask about what you do? A case! A case? You don’t even get paid or anything, do you? You always go to that drug den and get high when you’re not helping out the Yard! You always got Sherwin and me sick with worry when you were younger, and now you just bring the disgrace you call clothes into the house and lounge about. You don’t even know that Sherwin went over to the colonies to start his own paint business, do you? And he’s sacrificed so much of his life to take care of you, you ungrateful boy! Wasting all our money…”

John was beginning to understand how Sherlock acquired the habit of slithering out. Sigerson was one of those people who made you want to step quietly out the closest door.

“...Get a decent job that actually pays, get yourself a clean suit. Sherwin and I don’t even care if you can’t make us proud-”

John led Greg to the ground floor and interrupted, “Come, Sher- er, Scott. We must be on our way. Our clients won’t be happy if we don’t solve the case in time. The money’s ticking away.”

Sigerson paused, while John gave him a stately nod. Sherlock, Greg, and John hurriedly stepped out of the house and got into another black wagon.

“I suppose this English teacher must have a copy of the poem,” Sherlock mumbled to himself.

The wagon rumbled in a terrifying speed down the road. They all got off at their destination and Sherlock knocked on Miss Adler’s door.

An astonishingly young and beautiful woman opened the door. Her slender figure was covered in a fancy green dress, and her jet-black hair was coiled on her head in an extremely complicated manner.

“I’ll take a wild guess and call you Scott Williams,” Miss Adler smiled shrewdly at Sherlock and stared at him with droopy eyes.

Sherlock cocked his head slightly to the side and smiled at this woman. Greg was gaping at her from behind Sherlock, and John knew in that instant that Andrea was gone forever from the wizard’s fickle mind. John frowned at the woman.

“And you must be Miss Adler,” Sherlock replied. “I’m very sorry to bother you, but I made a stupid mistake last week and carried off my nephew’s homework instead of an important evidence pertaining to my case. Ford has told me that he gave it to you as proof that he wasn’t shirking.”

“Please, do come in,” Miss Adler said. “I’ll go and get it for you.”

John and Greg sat on a long couch in an elegant living area with a large fireplace and black wallpaper. John didn’t know much about decorating one’s house, but he could tell Miss Adler had an expansive taste.

The woman came back into the room with Greg’s spell.

“How do you know who I am?” Sherlock asked.

“You must know how famous you are, Mr. Consulting Detective. I’ve read the papers.”

“Ah, but that was years ago. The press must have forgotten about me by now,” Sherlock said, trying to catch Miss Adler’s eyes.

“I’ve also heard the gossip about your unpredictable disappearances and reappearances,” Miss Adler looked directly into Sherlock’s longing eyes.

And at that moment, John knew he would never like her. He sat on the couch, glaring at the interaction. The best thing to come out of this was for Miss Adler to fall in love now, so that Sherlock would have forgotten about her by the time they got back to the castle.

“Well, now that you have the evidence back, I suppose you can solve your case,” Miss Adler said. “Would you mind giving me Ford’s homework before you leave?”

Sherlock brought the sheet out willingly and held it just out of her reach.

“So this poem,” he said, “It’s been bothering me. I’ve read it long ago and I can’t seem to remember the rest of it. Silly, I know. Derren Brown wrote it, I believe?”

“John Donne. It is very well-known, indeed. I have the book here, if you would like to refresh your memory?"

“Please.”

Miss Adler came back with the book and opened it to the poem. Sherlock’s eyes never left her face. Miss Adler noticed and looked up from the book, and proceeded to have a staring contest with the man. The situation made John very uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable, indeed.

"Hamish," John finally blurted out at the young couple.

Sherlock and Miss Adler turned their faces toward John questioningly. Greg still stared at Miss Adler shamelessly.

"If you're looking for a baby name," John was determined to make them feel awkward. "It's my middle name," he added sheepishly.

Sherlock turned to Miss Adler with an amused smile and raised an eyebrow.

The lady looked back at Sherlock and replied sternly, “No. Mr. Williams, I’m sure you’ve already used your skills to deduce that I’m already engaged to Mark Hallard.”

“Never heard of him,” Sherlock said.

“He disappeared some years back,” Miss Adler said. “Now, would you like me to read the poem to you?”

“Please. You have such a lovely voice,” Sherlock was quite unrepentant.

John begged to differ but Miss Adler began reading the second verse:

              _If thou beest born to strange sights,_  
 _Things invisible to see,_  
 _Ride ten thousand days and nights_  
 _Till age snow white hairs on thee._  
 _Thou, when thou returnest, wilt tell me_  
 _All strange wonders that befell thee,_  
 _And swear_  
 _No where_  
 _Lives a woman true, and fair._  
 _If thou-_

Sherlock became paler than John imagined it could ever be and said, “Thank you. I remember the rest now. John Donne, yes.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and handed Miss Adler the paper with the first verse.

“We must be going now. If you would like to have supper with me-"

“No, thank you,” Miss Adler said. “Goodbye, Mr. Williams.”

Sherlock hustled John and Greg out the door. They all rode one of the wagons back to the 221B house and got back inside the castle.

When they were sitting by Mike’s low glow, Greg asked Sherlock what was the matter.

“The Wizard of the Waste has caught up with me with his curse,” Sherlock answered thoughtfully. “Bound to happen sooner or later... Ten thousand. Brings us to about Midsummer Day.”

“What about the Midsummer Day?” John asked.

“The day I turn ten thousand days old. And that is the day I shall have to go back to the Wizard of the Waste,” Sherlock quietly said. “I must keep clear of mermaids, and don’t touch a mandrake root…”

Sherlock woke the fire demon with a new log and said, “Moriarty’s caught up with me.”

“I know, I felt it,” Mike replied gloomily.


	12. Acacia

John didn’t see the point of blackening Sherlock’s name to the Queen now that Wizard Moriarty’s caught up with him. But Sherlock seemed to think the opposite.

“I need everything to escape him,” he said to John. “Can’t have the Queen dragging me down.”

The following morning, John put on the fine suit with the honeybee tie and stiffly sat on his chair. He waited for Greg and Sherlock to get ready and come out. Meanwhile, John told Mike about Sherlock’s strange country.

Mike was amused, “I knew he'd come from foreign parts, but it sounds like another world. Very clever of the old Mormor to send the curse in from there. The type of magic I admire, too. Using something that already exists and turning it into a curse. That fool Sherl told the Wizard way too much about himself for his own good.”

John looked at Mike’s flaming face. Mike did admire curses and insulted Sherlock, but he was a demon, after all. John decided that Mike didn’t truly hate Sherlock even if he did complain about the wizard’s cruelty.

“I’m scared, too,” Mike continued. “I’ll suffer with Sherlock if Mori caught him. You have to break our contract before that happens or I won’t be able to help anyone.”

Sherlock dashed out of the bathroom, glowing in his purple shirt and smelling of acacia. Greg ran out of his bedroom in his new velvet suit.

“Well, don’t you look dashing, my good man,” Sherlock stated at John. “Lose the cane and the Queen Herself would want to marry you.”

“The cane stays,” said John. “I need it for moral support.”

The three of them went out the Kingsbury door and walked through the busy street. John turned back to see the big, black arched gateway decorating a small mahogany door of the castle. The house was made of grey stones.

“It used to be an empty stable,” Sherlock told John as they walked.

It amazed John how well he fit into the richly-dressed crowd. His eyes constantly wandered to the elegant houses and other people’s clothes. He was so absorbed in the vista that he almost missed the extreme heat the sun was giving out overhead.

“By the way,” Sherlock reminded John, “Madame Holmes will call you Mr. Shadowfax. It’s the name I use around here. It suits me much better than _Williams_.”

“I get by quite well with a plain name,” said John.

“Plain. Plain’s boring,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

Madame Holmes’ house was indeed very grand. It had unnaturally orange and purple trees on either side of its handsome front door. An elderly footman in black suit opened the door for them, and led the guests through a white marbled hall. Sherlock seemed to know the footman well, and the two chatted away excitedly.

John felt like he was in the Palace already. They were led into a bright drawing room of blue, silver, and white. A distinguished woman was sitting comfortably in gold-embroidered chair smiling gently at her guests. She was wearing an old gold silk dress and a small headdress of the same color on her white hair. Her angular eagle face was wrinkled with age, but John to see that it had been very beautiful once. Her glassy green eyes reminded John of Sherlock’s ever-changing ones. Madame Holmes could even pass off as Sherlock’s mother. Or grandmother.

“Scott, my child,” she called out to the young wizard and held out her hand.

Sherlock bent over and gently kissed the hand, and waved urgently at Greg behind his back. Greg realized that he was supposed to be standing with the pageboy and hurriedly went over to the door.

“Madame Holmes, allow me to present to you my old father,” Sherlock said and flapped his hand at John.

“Charmed. Delighted,” The lady said as John also kissed her skinny hand. “Forgive me for not standing up, Mr. Shadowfax. My health is not so good. It forced me to retire four years ago. Please, sit, both of you.”

John slowly sat on a gold chair opposite Madame Holmes, and Sherlock sat on the chair next to him gracefully.

“I’m eighty-two,” Madame Holmes announced. “How old are you, Mr. Shadowfax?”

“Ninety,” John hastily replied.

“So old? You’re very lucky to be able to move so nimbly still.”

“Much too nimbly, I’d say,” Sherlock grumbled next to John.

Madame Holmes gave him a look that told John that she had been as fierce a teacher as Miss Adler.

“Now, I’m talking to you father,” she said sternly. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to sit here and listen to two old people discussing you. Go down and sit on the terrace and take your footman with you.”

John was anxious at the thought of having to sit with the lady by himself, but Sherlock dramatically sighed and went out the door with Greg.

“I prefer him with red hair,” Madame Holmes said. “That boy is going to the bad.”

“Oh,” John wondered what to say. “Going?”

“Take his whole appearance. His clothes.”

“He is very mindful about his appearance,” John couldn’t help but defend his ‘son.’

“He always was. I’m also careful about my appearance, and there is no harm in that. However, what business does he have, walking around in a charmed shirt? Dazzling attraction charm, directed at the ladies - very well-done, I admit, barely detectable. This represents the downward trend into black arts. Very concerning for the both of us.”

John thought about the purple shirt. Nothing about it seemed very peculiar to him, but what did he know about magic?

“My life is nearly over,” Madame Holmes announced. “I was anxious to see you, Mr. Shadowfax. Scott was my last pupil and by far the best. I was about to retire when he came to me from a foreign land. I thought my work was done when I trained Mark Hallard - you would know him as Sorcerer Mycroft - and procured him the post of Royal Magician. Oddly enough, he had come from the same place as Scott. I knew at a glance that Scott had twice the imagination and twice the capabilities. Of course, he had some faults of character, but he was built to be on the side of the angels. Sherlock was indeed a perfect name for him, I must say.”

“I’m sorry?” John was bewildered.

“Oh, I gave the names Mycroft and Sherlock to these pupils of mine. Named them after the great Holmes brothers far back in my ancestral line. Mark and Scott were much too... common for their brilliance,” Madame Holmes replied. “Anyway, Scott used to be the force of good. But what is he now?”

“What indeed?” John said.

“Something has happened to him. And I am determined to put it to the right before I die.”

“What do you think happened?” John was feeling rather uncomfortable.

“My feeling is that he has gone the same way as the Wizard of the Waste. They say that he used to be good once - long ago, even before our time, and he keeps himself young by his arts. Scott has gifts in the same order as Moriarty’s. It seems as if those with high ability cannot resist some extra, dangerous stroke of cleverness, which results in a slow decline to evil. Do you, by any chance, have a clue what that might be?”

John thought and only one thing came to mind, “He’s made a contract with a fire demon.”

“Ah, that must be it. You must break that contract, Mr. Shadowfax.”

“I would if I knew how.”

“Surely your strong magical gift will tell you how.”

Magical gift? John thought back to the hats he had talked to long ago at his late father’s hat shop. Then he realized how he had unknowingly charmed Sherlock’s purple shirt when he mended it. ‘Built to pull in the ladies,’ he had said.

“I like your gift,” Madame Holmes continued. “It brings life to things, such as that cane in your hand. I see you’ve talked to it to the extent that it has become what they would call a magic wand. You would not find it difficult to break Scott’s contract.”

“Yes, yes, but I still need to know the terms of it,” replied John.

“I’m sure you will figure it out,” Madame Holmes closed her eyes. “But I see now what has happened to Wizard Moriarty. His fire demon must have taken control of him over time. Demons do not understand good and evil but they can be bribed into a contract, provided that the human offers them something of value. This prolongs the life of both the human and demon, and the human acquires the demon’s power to add to his or her own. I must advise you to find out what the demon’s got. Now I regret to bid you farewell. I shall rest.”

The door to the drawing room opened at that and the pageboy came in to usher John out. John looked back to Madame Holmes and wondered if she knew that John was lying about being Sherlock’s father. As he was being led to the front gate by the pageboy, John thought about his own magical accomplishments and realized that he must take the purple dress shirt off of Sherlock, somehow.

Sherlock and Greg met him at the front gate. John was exhausted from the interview with Madame Holmes but he had to blacken Sherlock’s name to the Queen. It was the only way to keep Sherlock from going to the Waste and getting caught by Wizard Moriarty.

 

 


	13. Palace

The three companions reached the rows of golden domes. John was dazzled by the huge flight of steps that led to the front entrance, lined by a soldier in scarlet standing every six steps. The Palace itself was something so massive and golden that John couldn’t see the sky. Now _this_ was a palace, John thought to himself. The dingy old thing Sherlock insisted on calling his ‘palace’ was nowhere near as fancy as the Queen’s Palace.

“Mr. Shadowfax to see the Queen!” Each well-dressed person at the numerous doors they passed announced their arrival.

About halfway, Sherlock detached himself from the company and vanished into one of the large rooms. Greg and John were handed from person to person until they reached an enormous anteroom, and Greg was peeled off and was made to wait.

“Your Highness, here is Mr. Shadowfax come to see you,” the man at the door announced with a bow and ushered John in.

John was greeted by the middle-aged woman with golden hair, sitting in a rather plain-looking gold chair in the middle of the large room. She was dressed in a modest violet dress and had a small, golden crown on her head. John had heard of Queen Mary’s youthful beauty from the gossip of the hat shop customers. The rumors were quite true, although he would call her rather adorable than beautiful. But he would never say that out loud without being beheaded, probably.

“Well,” the Queen said. “What does Wizard Sherlock’s father want to see me about?”

John was led to a small chair opposite her and took a seat. He had forgotten everything Sherlock had told him to say and felt a nervous shiver down his spine.

“My son has sent me to tell you he’s not going to look for your brother, Your Majesty,” John said.

He stared at the Queen. The Queen stared at John. It was a disaster.

“Are you quite sure? He seemed willing when we talked.”

John thought of different ways to blacken Sherlock’s name. He would say everything that came to his mind. That was the best idea under the pressuring circumstance.

“He lied about that. He didn’t want to annoy you. He’s a slitherer-outer, if you know what I mean, Your Majesty.”

“And he wished to slither out of finding my brother, Augustus. I see. Pray tell me the Wizard’s reasons?”

“For one thing, only a coward would send his old father along to plead for him. You can tell a lot about his character, just by looking at that, Your Majesty.”

“It is an unusual step. However, I told him that I’d make it worthwhile if he agreed.”

“Oh, he doesn’t care about money, but he’s terrified of the Wizard of the Waste, Your Majesty. You see, he put a curse on my boy and it’s just caught up with him.”

“Then he has every reason to be scared. But please, tell me more about the wizard.”

John didn’t have to think for much longer before replying, “He’s terribly fickle, careless, arrogant, and hysterical. Most of the time, I don’t even think he cares what happens to anyone as long as he’s all right - but then I find out how awfully kind he’s been to someone. I suppose he’s just kind when it suits him - but then he undercharges poor people.” It was a mess. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. He’s a mess.”

“My impression,” the Queen smiled warmly, “Was that Sherlock is an unprincipled, slippery rogue with a clever mind. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. He’s ridiculously self-centered, too-” John readily answered and quickly stopped.

The Queen seemed to be ready to help John blacken Sherlock’s name. She knew what was going on. The Queen’s smile broadened.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Shadowfax. Your truthfulness has taken a great weight off my mind. The Wizard agreed to look for Augustus so readily that I thought I had picked the wrong man. I feared that he was either someone who couldn’t resist showing off or someone who would do anything for money. But I now see he is just the man I need.”

“Er, no, Your Majesty. He is indeed a show-off but he’s much more cowardly. He sent me to tell you he wasn’t the man you need!”

“And that’s exactly what you did. Let me be equally outspoken, now. Mr. Shadowfax, I need my brother back badly. Truth be told, we were never exactly on good terms before he left, and I can dismiss the ridiculous talk of me having sent him off myself. The fact is, Mr. Shadowfax, my brother Augustus is a brilliant politician and I need his help to keep my officials in order. There have been talks of creating a coup against me. I need my brother back, desperately. The Wizard of the Waste threatened me, too, you know. Now all reports agree that Augustus did go to the Waste - I am certain that the Wizard meant me to be without him when I needed him most. He must have used Sorcerer Mycroft as bait to lure August away from me. It appears that I need a fairly clever and powerful wizard to get him back.”

“Sherlock will simply run away, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t think he will. The fact that he sent you tells me that. But it did show me he is too much of a coward to care what I thought of him. Not an act of a vain man, but a last resort nonetheless. He will come around when I let him know that his last resort has failed.”

John sat quietly and wished that he could remember the things Sherlock had told him to say.

“Tell him, Mr. Shadowfax, that I am appointing him Royal Magician as of now, with the Royal Command to find Prince Augustus before the year is out. You may leave to go now.”

The Queen held out her hand to John, and John hobbled over to kiss her hand. He bowed graciously and shuffled out the double door, inwardly cursing himself. He wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going and found himself in a room full of mirrors and people in Court dresses and fine suits. He couldn’t find Greg anywhere.

“Curses!” John murmured, wondering what to do.

One of the men in a suit came over and called to him, “Mr. Sorcerer! May I be of assistance?”

It was the undersized duel-man at the Kingsbury door.

“Oh, hello, young man!” John exclaimed. “So my spell worked?”

“So it did. I disarmed him when he was sneezing and now he’s suing me. But the important thing is, that my dear Sally has come back to me! Now what can I do for you?”

“I lost my way,” John said. “Are you by any chance the Count of the Baskervilles?”

“At your service," the scrawny man smiled and bowed.

Sally Donovan must have been a head taller than the man. Definitely John’s fault. The Count led John out the door, through a series of long hallways, and down to the entrance hall. John met no one else he knew along the way. Before he knew it, he was led down the massive steps lined with soldiers, and out of the Palace grounds.

John hobbled along the streets, wondering which way to go to get back to Sherlock’s castle. Maybe Sherlock and Greg would realize John wasn’t at the Palace anymore and would just come back to meet him there. The thing was, John was absolutely lost. He tried asking around where Wizard Shadowfax lived, but they didn’t seem to recognize the name.

Then he came up to a familiar alleyway and realized that Madame Holmes would know the way. He walked down the alley and saw a familiar figure coming towards him. It was the Wizard of the Waste. He was dressed impeccably in a fine black suit, and his face was just as well-groomed as the last time John saw him back at the hat shop. John hoped that the Wizard wouldn’t recognize him. They had only met once briefly, after all.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Watson,” Moriarty said as they passed. “Oh, don’t seem so surprised. I never forget a face. And I definitely don’t forget my own magic! What are you doing here, dressed up so fine? If you think the old Holmes lady could help you, let me save you the trouble. The old biddy’s dead.”

“Dead?” John looked up to the Wizard’s face.

“She refused to tell me where certain someone is. She said, ‘Over my dead body!’ So I took the trouble and killed her.” Moriarty smiled wickedly.

He was looking for Sherlock! John couldn’t let him know that he knew Sherlock at all, and definitely couldn’t go back to the castle, now. Moriarty was walking alongside John by now.

“I’ve no idea who this person you’ve killed is,” John remarked, “But you are a terrible murderer.”

Moriarty shrugged and said, “But I thought you said you were going to Madame Holmes?”

“No, _you_ said that. I’m going to see the Queen.”

Moriarty laughed disbelievingly, “What would Mary want to do with you?”

“Yes, well, I made an appointment. I’m… going… to petition her for better working conditions for hatters.”

“Then you’re going in the wrong direction. The Palace is behind you.”

“Oh? Then I must have lost my way. I’ve become very bad with directions since you turned me this way.”

It was clear that Moriarty still did not believe John.

“Then I’ll show you the way,” he said and walked with John in the direction to the Palace.

Even after they got to the steps, Moriarty stood at the bottom and encouraged John along.

“Well, here we are, then. Go along, now,” Moriarty quirked his head toward the top of the steps. “By the way, have you heard of a little place called London?”

“No,” John replied. “Is it under the sea?”

“Not at the moment. It’s where Wizard Sherlock comes from. You know who he is, don’t you?”

“I’ve only heard the rumors. He eats girls, I hear. He’s as wicked as you.”

Moriarty cackled and motioned John up the steps. “If the Queen actually agreed to see you, remind her that her grand-daddy sent me to the Waste and I bear her a grudge for that.”

John was bearing Moriarty a grudge for making him climb up the numerous steps again. When he got to the guard with a curious expression, he told him that there was something he forgot to tell the Queen. He went through the same long process until he reached the anteroom once again.

Queen Mary looked at John with curiosity and amusement.

“They tell me there was something you forgot to say,” she said.

“Yes,” John licked his lips. “Sherlock says he’ll only look for Prince Augustus if you promise him your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

That was the best he could do under the circumstances. Sherlock would have to deal with the consequences, if by any chance the Queen agreed to it. The Queen gave him a concerned look.

“Mr. Shadowfax, you must know that’s very much out of the question. I can see you must be very worried about your son to suggest it, but you can’t keep him tied to your belt buckle forever. And my mind is made up.”

John worried whether she would call someone to arrest him.

“My daughter is here at the moment,” she said.

She went over to her desk by the windows and bent down to John’s surprise.

“Janine,” she called. “Janine, come on out. Show your pretty little face to our guest, here, darling.”

The Queen came back to her chair with a baby with four teeth in her arms. The baby princess in a tiny lilac dress sucked on her thumb. John merely gaped with an open mouth.

“Oh,” he finally managed to say.

“I understand how a parent feels, Mr. Shadowfax,” the Queen smiled.


	14. Irish setter

John rode one of the gleaming royal coached back to Sherlock’s castle. It was good, since it was an extremely hot day and John’s legs were aching from so much walking around all afternoon. He was greeted by Sherlock and Greg at the door.

A servant dressed in scarlet velvet suit helped John out of the coach and stood in front of the open door to hand Sherlock a shiny scroll with red-and-blue royal seals dangling off it. Sherlock handed him a gold piece and waved him off.

John dressed in his normal outfit and sat in his red chair, while Sherlock lounged on his black one, and Greg sat on the floor next to Sherlock. They talked about the adventures of the day. Sherlock was distracted and nervously drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair.

“Sherlock’s upset because Madame Holmes is dead,” Greg told John.

“The Queen was sick of me turning up and blackening your name,” John told Sherlock. “I went twice. Everything went wrong. And I met the Moriarty git on his way from killing Madame Holmes.”

“Behold the new Royal Magician,” Sherlock waved the royal scroll in front of Mike. “I should never have sent John to the Queen. Useless.”

“I did it to blacken your name!” John protested.

“Miscalculation on my part,” said Sherlock gloomily. “Now, how do I go to Madame Holmes’ funeral without Moriarty knowing?”

Sherlock was too busy being upset by Madame Holmes’ death to worry about John’s failure at the Palace. Greg worried about the Wizard of the Waste the most.

The next morning, Greg came out of his bedroom and asked John where Sherlock was. Sherlock had spent two hours that morning and came out in his purple shirt, smelling strongly of lilac, and went out without his violin. John aggressively continued working on Sherlock’s white shirt pieces.

“Don’t open the door to anyone,” Mike told them. “Moriarty knows about all our entrances except the Porthaven one.”

Greg was so alarmed that he put a stool against the door, below the doorknob. Then he finally got to working on the spell they got back from Miss Adler.

Half an hour later, the doorknob turned sharply. The door bounced about and Greg clutched John’s arm.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered to John. “I’ll keep you safe.”

The door bounced urgently for a while until it finally stopped minutes later. Greg let go of John.

Then in that moment, the door exploded open, and Greg jumped under the workbench and Mike ducked under his log. Sherlock burst into the room.

“A bit much, don’t you think?” Sherlock asked John, shivering. “I do live here, you know.”

He was soaking wet. His purple shirt and the scarf were darkened with rain water, and sparkling raindrops were falling from his wool coat. John looked to the color wheel. It was turned black up. _Miss Adler_ , John thought. Sherlock had gone to see her in his charmed shirt.

“Where have you been?” John asked.

“Standing in the rain. None of your business,” Sherlock sneezed and said hoarsely. “What is the purpose of the stool?”

“It was me,” Greg stood up from under the workbench. “In case the Wiz-”

“You think I don’t know my own business?” Sherlock accused the boy. “I have numerous misdirection spells out and most people wouldn’t find us at all. It would take even Moriarty three days. John, hot tea for me, thanks.”

John crossed his arms, “What about Andrea?”

“I’m soaked through. I need a hot drink.” Sherlock whined.

“I said, what about Andrea Watson?” John repeated.

“Oh, don’t bother!” Sherlock stomped into the bathroom. “Hot water, Mike!”

John continued working on the white shirt. He would have to finish it quickly so he could get rid of the purple one just as soon.

An hour later, Sherlock came back out of the bathroom with watery eyes and a runny nose, wearing light blue-striped pyjama bottoms and a blue silk evening gown over a white shirt. He slumped into his chair.

“I don’t think we need to move the Porthaven entrance,” Sherlock said and blew his nose into a white handkerchief. “But the palace needs to be moved somewhere far away from anywhere it’s been before, and the Kingsbury entrance must be shut down.”

Someone knocked on the door. Sherlock and Greg jumped at the sound, and John scoffed at their cowardice. Why had he even bothered going through all that trouble for Sherlock yesterday?

“What about the black entrance?” Greg asked once the knocker at the door went away.

“It stays,” Sherlock blew his nose again.

Of course, Miss Adler's there, after all! John stitched eagerly.

Sherlock sneezed and blew his nose throughout the morning.

“Why is it that everytime I go to London, I come back with a cold?” he whined.

John scoffed again, “People who are appointed to do something by the Queen and go courting in the rain instead deserve every cold they get.”

“You know nothing, Mr. Moralizer,” Sherlock blew his nose again. “I have looked for Prince Augustus, John. Courting isn’t the only thing I do when I go out.”

“When have you looked?” John asked.

“Erm, let’s see,” Sherlock croaked with sarcasm. “When he first disappeared. I was curious when he went to Upper Folding, when everyone knew Mycroft had gone to the Waste. Someone must have sold him a fake finding spell. He went to Hudders' to buy another. Then he came to the palace and bought another from us-”

Greg’s eyes widened, “Wait, the man in the brown suit was the Prince?”

“Yes, I expected you to have deduced that. Haven’t you learned anything from me?” Sherlock sneezed five times consecutively. “I feel ill. I’m going to bed, where I’ll die of boredom. Bury me beside Madame Holmes.”

Sherlock dragged himself up the staircase.

John sewed harder than ever. He absolutely regretted ever having cut up the shirt into so many pieces. He had to hurry up and finish it before Sherlock did any more damage to Miss Adler. John didn’t like her one bit, but he did feel sorry for her.

“Help me, someone! I’m dying of neglect up here!” Sherlock shouted with a thick voice and sneezed loudly.

John snorted. Greg sighed and ran up the stairs. He came back down and fetched a mug of hot lemon-and-honey tea, an enormous book, a handful of leaves and roots hanging from the ceiling, and a bunch of other things John didn’t care for. People kept knocking on the door - some were extremely diligent, too - yelling that they knew someone was in there. Mike and John felt uneasy as the impatient being hammered on the door.

John realized as he sewed and sewed, that his work would result in a much smaller shirt than expected. When Greg came down and munched on a bacon sandwich, John asked, “Greg, is there a way to make small clothes larger?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what my new spell is. I’ll work on it once Sherlock’s done with being sick. Can’t you ask Mike?”

Mike and John exchanged looks. Mike shook his head.

Greg rushed upstairs at Sherlock’s soft moan then ran back down. Sherlock wanted him to go to Market Chipping and get some things needed for moving the castle.

“But Moriarty… Is it safe?” John asked concerned.

Greg went to the broom closet and a burly man with a huge red beard came out wearing a dusty velvet cloak.

“Sherlock says this should be enough. I’ll be able to throw the Wizard off what with Sherlock’s misdirection spells. I wonder if Andrea will notice me,” the man with Greg’s voice answered.

He jumped out the castle door. Peace descended. Mike dozed in his hearth and John worked diligently. A few hours later, someone knocked on the door. John ignored it and the knocking continued.

After five minutes of uneasiness, John asked, “Is it the Wizard?”

“No,” Mike answered. “It’s the castle door. Someone is running along beside us. We’re going quite fast, you know.”

“The scarecrow?”

“It’s flesh and blood. Not sure what it is. But it wants to come in pretty badly. Don’t think it means any harm, but what do I know? I’m only a demon.”

John slowly got up from his chair and carefully opened the door. A huge greyhound leaped into the room and panted. John considered yelling for Sherlock, before something strange happened.

The dog bent its back and hoisted itself up onto its hind legs. It slowly transformed into a tall, unhappy man with ginger hair and a pale face.

“Came from Upper Folding!” he panted. “Love Andrea - Andrea sent me - Andrea crying - Andrea unhappy - sent me to you - told me to stay-” He double up and began to shrink. “Don’t tell wizard!”

The man shrank into a red setter and bounded around John, looking up with watery eyes. John closed the door.

“You were the retriever, weren’t you? Now I see what Mrs. Hudson was talking about. But why has Andrea sent you here? If you don’t want me to tell Sherlock-”

The dog faintly growled at the sound the name, but wagged its tail all the same.

“All right, I won’t tell. Mike, what do you think?”

“This dog is a bespelled human,” Mike said thoughtfully.

“Yes, I can see that. Can you take the spell off him?”

“No, I need to be linked to Sherlock to do that,” Mike said.

Poor Andrea! Breaking her heart over Sherlock and her only other lover a dog most of the time!

John addressed the dog, “Turn back into the man you should be.”

The dog stared expectantly. Nothing happened.

By the time the dog had fallen asleep at John’s feet and the shirt was halfway finished, Sherlock began to moan and groan loudly. John and Mike ignored the sound. Sherlock sneezed loudly and was silently ignored. Sherlock moaned again and coughed over and over until John finally had enough and went upstairs. He barged open the door.

“You’d think you never had a cold before! What is it?” John yelled at the grumbling figure in a large bed.

“I’m dying,” moaned Sherlock. “Or worse, dying of boredom.”

To John’s surprise, the room was exceptionally clean. There was the white bed with its headboard against the wall, and a large dresser was leaning comfortably against another wall. John must have been imagining that the dresser was having feelings. A small bedside lamp lit up the room. Along the floor by the wall opposite the bed were rows of bubbling liquids in various jars and bottles of different shapes and sizes. A tall stack of ancient books stood at the corner next to the liquids, and over the liquids, spider webs drooped down from the ceiling. He went over to a stool beside Sherlock’s bed and sat down.

John felt Sherlock’s forehead, “You do have a bit of fever.”

“I’m delirious,” Sherlock whined. “I feel dizzy and my mind is all… foggy. It’s not right. My mind is never foggy.”

“Why don’t you just cure yourself with a spell?”

“There’s no cure for a cold. I keep thinking of Moriarty’s curse. The things that have already happened. The rest will happen. There’s no doubt about it. The mermaids, the mandrake root, and the wind to advance an honest mind. And I wonder if I’ll get white hair. I’m not going to take my spell off and see. There’s only three weeks until Midsummer Eve, then he will get me. The others happened long ago.”

“You mean the falling star and never being able to find a woman true and fair? I’m not surprised, the way you go. Madame Holmes told me you were going to the bad. I suppose she was right, then?”

“I need to go to her funeral. Madame Holmes always thought far too well of me,” a single tear ran down Sherlock’s cheek.

Maybe he was crying, or maybe it was just the cold. John noticed he was slithering out again.

“I was talking about the way you drop the ladies once they fall in love with you. Why do you do that?”

“It’s the only way to keep my mind busy. You see, my brain never rests. It’s never as calm and relaxing as you ordinary people seem to have it. I need to keep playing the game or I’ll die of boredom. I used to help solve complicated cases back where I came from when I was younger and I do still do that from time to time when the magic and spells get too mundane. Ingary does have its benefits but the people here are too nice to each other. I need cases. Murders. So I turned to winning affections of all these women years ago. It’s just a game to me now, and I’ll never be able to love anyone properly.”

The dog dashed in through the open door and John caught it, in case it tried to attack Sherlock.

“What’s this?” Sherlock asked.

“My new dog,” John said, patting the calm dog.

John looked out the window by Sherlock’s bed and saw a neat, square yard. There was a bright blue swing set in the middle. The raindrops on the swings sparkled under the setting sun. Sherlock’s niece, Sherrin, ran toward one of the swings and Sigerson yelled at her not to sit on the wet swing.

“Is that the place called London?” John asked.

Sherlock laughed and pulled up his white sheet over his flushed face.

“Go away now,” he mumbled under the sheet. “I made a bet with myself that I could keep you from snooping out the window all the time you were in here. We’re done now. Stop boring me and leave.”

John gritted his teeth and let go of the dog, hoping it would bite Sherlock hard. Unfortunately, it merely sat on John’s lap and whined.

“So all that song and dance was just another game, was it?” John said.

“Well, I did warn you my brain never rests,” Sherlock replied.

John got up from the stool and followed the red setter out the door and slammed it shut behind them.

 


	15. Battledress

John went back to his sewing and the dog lay languidly by his feet. John was still working diligently when a red-bearded man in velvet burst into the room. He took off his cloak and put down a large box on the workbench.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” he said as he rubbed the dog’s ears. “I hope Sherlock lets him stay.”

At Greg’s voice, Sherlock came down the stairs, wrapped in his white sheet. In contrast to John’s worry that the dog might bite Sherlock, it merely lay on his stomach when the wizard patted it.

“Well?” Sherlock asked Greg.

“I got everything,” Greg answered. “And lucky for us, there’s an empty hat shop for sale down in Market Chipping. Do you think we could move the palace there?”

Sherlock sat on his chair, and the sheet folded up to reveal his bare legs.

“Are you wearing pants?” John blurted out without thinking.

“Nope,” Sherlock said.

John couldn’t help but let out a fit of giggles and Sherlock followed suit. Greg stared at them.

“Sherlock, you’re sick! Put some clothes on!” Greg exclaimed.

“Shh…” Sherlock said. “Depending on how much the shop costs, we’ll move the Porthaven entrance there. It won’t be easy, since it means we’ll be moving Mike. What do you say, Mike?”

“We’ll have to be super careful,” the demon seemed several shades paler even for a fire. “But I prefer to stay where I am.”

'Harry must be selling the shop,' John thought. 'Business not gone well without me, huh?'

The dog didn’t seem to want to leave. He didn’t attack Sherlock, and let Greg take him out on walks over the hills. He was dedicated to become a part of the household.

Sherlock was in and out of bed all the following day. When he was in bed, Greg had to race up and down the staircase and tend to him. When he was out, Greg helped him measure the castle and fix metal brackets to every corner.

“John, if we were to move to the hat shop,” Sherlock once remarked, “What should we sell?”

“Not hats,” John said immediately.

“Well, then, now that that’s settled,” Sherlock said, “I hope you decide what to actually sell at the shop. And quick.”

Sherlock went up to his room. Five minutes later, he came back down.

“John, got any preference about the other entrances? Where would you like us to live?”

John thought back to Mrs. Hudson’s house of flower gardens.

“A nice house with lots of flowers,” he said.

Sherlock went back up then reappeared, fully dressed. He put on the velvet coat and changed into a tall, red-bearded man, blowing his nose into a white handkerchief.

“If you go out now,” John remarked. “The cold will get worse.”

“Then I’ll just die and you’ll all be sorry,” Sherlock said and went out the castle door.

Until Sherlock came back, Greg worked on his new spell and John ferociously worked on the white shirt.

“I took the shop,” Sherlock coughed as he took off the cloak. “It has a useful courtyard at the back and a house at the side.”

Sherlock went to bed. Soon after, he furiously sneezed for attention and Greg ran up to him. Greg came back down, humming cheerfully.

“We’re going to live in Market Chipping,” he said to Billy the Skull. “I can go and see my Andrea everyday.”

“Is that why you told Sherlock about the hat shop?” John asked.

“Yes,” Greg said. “Andrea told me about it when we were wondering how we’d ever see each other again.”

In that moment, Sherlock came down in his sheet. “This is my last announcement,” he croaked, wiping his red eyes. “Madame Holmes is being buried tomorrow on her estate near Porthaven and I need the suit cleaned.”

His black suit and the purple shirt were dropped on John’s lap.

“Must you go to the funeral?” Greg sounded worried.

“I wouldn’t dream of staying away. Madame Holmes made me the wizard I am today. I must pay my respects.”

“Your cold will get worse,” Greg said.

“I’ll be all right,” Sherlock croaked. “I just need to keep out of the sea wind. It’s a bitter place, the Holmes estate. The land is bare and it’s all grass, grass, grass. No shelter for miles.”

“What about the Wizard?” Greg said.

“I’ll disguise myself, probably as another corpse.”

“Then you don’t need this suit,” John said.

John was determined to keep the purple shirt away from anywhere near Sherlock. When Sherlock trailed away into his bedroom, John took up his scissors and hacked up the purple shirt. Then he got to working on the white shirt more diligently than ever. When it was finished, it looked much too small even for himself.

“Greg,” John called. “Hurry up and get me that spell.”

An hour later, Greg came over to John with a small amount of green powder. “Where do you want it?” he asked.

John laid the white shirt on the floor next to the dozing dog, and Greg sprinkled the powder on every inch of it.

A moment later, the shirt began to spread on all sides. Greg and John agreed that the shirt was about the right size about five minutes later, and Greg picked up the shirt then shook off the excess powder into the grate. Mike glared and snarled, and the dog jumped at the sound.

“Oomph!” Mike said. “Whoa, that was some strong stuff.”

John took the black suit and the white shirt up to Sherlock’s bedroom. The wizard was sound asleep in his bed.

John looked out the window onto Sigerson and Ford throwing and catching a small ball to each other.

“Snooping again,” Sherlock said suddenly. “‘Teach me to keep off envy’s stinging...’ I love London but London doesn’t love me. Sigerson was always envious because I was the brain of the family and he was so… average. Anyway, it’s all in the past now.”

Sherlock began snoring just as instantly as he had begun speaking. John ignored the way the shirt seemed bigger than the last time he touched it and quietly left the room.

The next morning, John and Greg woke up to Sherlock still sleeping in his room. They moved about quietly to not wake the wizard. Neither of them wanted him to go to the funeral. Greg went out to the Porthaven Marshes with the dog and John got the food ready for breakfast. When Greg and the dog came back, Sherlock slowly came down the stairs.

“John,” he whined.

Sherlock was wearing the white shirt. The sleeves were so long that they were trailing on the steps behind him. His hands inside the long sleeves were holding up the rest of the shirt in an enormous bundle like a baby to reveal his bare feet. The rest of the residents of the castle stared in awe.

“Er, Sherlock,” said Greg, “It’s all my fault! I-”

“Your fault? No…” said Sherlock. “I can detect John’s hand a mile off. And there are several miles of this shirt. Where’s my other shirt?”

John fetched the purple pieces from the broom closet.

Sherlock surveyed the pieces and said, “Hand them over. I’m surprised you haven’t fed them to Mike.”

Sherlock took off the white shirt and left it draping over the stairway. He took the purple pieces into the bathroom.

John, Greg, and the dog ate breakfast, staring at the huge bundle of growing white on the stairs. By the time they were finished, Sherlock came out of the bathroom smelling like sweet pea flowers. He was in full black. The suit, the shirt, the shoes, the gem of his earring were all black. Except his skin and hair. The black clothing made his pale skin look even paler. His hair was the curly red that Madame Holmes had told John that she had liked better. John guessed that the hair was in honor of Madame Holmes. He found himself thinking that the ginger hair suited Sherlock’s glass-green eyes more naturally.

Sherlock grabbed a slice of bread from John’s plate and took a bite. Looking around the room, he noticed the white bundle on the stairs and waved his hand at it. The thing vanished out of sight. Sherlock walked around the dog as it sat uneasily on the floor, and observed it.

“Battledress,” Sherlock murmured.

He put the rest of the bread down on the workbench and fell onto his hands and knees. Soon, he was gone and a curly-haired red setter took his place.

The original setter was taken aback at the sight and began to growl at the unexpected newcomer. Greg immediately grabbed the dog before it attacked Sherlock. John watched Sherlock become human again.

“Hmm,” Sherlock said. “If I can deceive another dog, I can fool everyone else.”

He opened the door, blue up.

“Wait, if you’re going as a dog,” said John, “what’s the point of getting yourself up in black?”

Sherlock lifted his chin nobly and said, “Respect to Madame Holmes. She liked one to think of all the details. It’s all in the details, John.”

He strutted out the door into the streets of Porthaven.


	16. Persian slippers

Several hours later, the red setter let the others know that it was hungry and John started getting ready for lunch. John was getting out an egg from the cupboard when Sherlock’s voice rang out from nowhere.

“HOLD ON, MIKE! HE’S FOUND ME!”

Mike sprang upright. He roared, flaming up the chimney. He blurred into a dozen burning faces of blue, purple, and orange, and shook violently.

“They must be fighting,” Greg whispered behind John.

The dog jumped into John’s arms and whimpered. John sat on the bench with Greg and stared at the shaking flames. By now, Mike had turned almost white with thousands of blue eyes and rows of devilish purple mouths grinning wickedly.

Something exploded overhead with a loud boom and everything in the room shook violently. Mike turned almost black at the event.

Greg went over to the window. “They’re very near!” he exclaimed.

Billy was chattering its teeth loudly and John had to put it in the sink to keep it from falling down the bench. John stood next to Greg and looked out the window to see black and blue clouds expanding and intertwining over the ocean water.

Greg and John each got a velvet cloak from the broom closet and went out the door as two red-bearded men. Some of the Porthaven residents were looking out their windows in fear, and the braver ones rushed out to the dockside. Greg and John followed the crowd with the red setter trailing behind.

White flashes stabbed through the unnatural clouds, coiling around each other like giant snakes in the sky. Enormous screaming tore through the town, and some people ran into their houses. The rest of the crowd reached the dockside and looked up at the spectacle in the sky.

The ocean water was raging with rushing waves. The black and blue clouds clashed over the excited navy water. There was an unfortunate ship caught in the storm. It appeared that the crew wasn’t able to take down their sails in time, and the ship was floating helplessly like a small leaf.

“Can’t they at least take it somewhere far from the ship?” someone shouted.

A violent wind sprayed the salty water in the spectators’ faces. White water washed over and the docked ships and boat swayed in place. High-pitched screaming ripped through the dockside. John, along with a number of braver people, looked over the low stone wall that lined along the dock. A number of wet, scaly women with flowy blue-green hair were climbing into the boats, screaming away. John got a glimpse of shiny fish tails in place of legs.

“The mermaids from the curse!” John whispered.

The blue clouds twisted toward the mermaids for a moment and the black clouds bumped into the blue to create a giant lightning that hit the small ship with a deafening roar.

“Keep your eyes on the Wizard!” Greg shouted next to John.

The blue clouds joined together and turned into one massive figure. It transformed into a giant navy-black raven that tore through the black clouds. The black clouds spread out, then attacked the raven back. The right wing of the raven tore away from the body and vanished in a puff of smoke. The rest of the raven fell into the unfortunate ship, breaking it into pieces. The black clouds became orangy-white flames that showered onto the broken ship and the raven.

The crowd of people yelled and screamed at the sight.

Everything vanished. Only the aftermath of the fight was left in the form of a huge wave that soaked the spectators with salty water and washed away the screaming mermaids. There was no flame nor the ship in sight.

“I knew it wasn’t a real ship!” someone screamed.

Everyone cheered.

“It must have been an illusion,” whispered Greg. “It really was much too small.”

The docked ships and boats floated calmly under the clear, blue sky.

Everyone realized that the fight was over and turned back to their workplaces or their houses, talking excitedly. John and Greg also turned back to the direction of castle with the wet dog.

There was a sound of a series of small waves behind them. John and Greg turned back toward the ocean and saw quick successions of waves in the shape of seal-like monsters with sharp teeth. Each monster was biting the tail of the one in the front.

“What’s going on?” John asked.

“Illusions. Sherlock and the Wizard must be trying to fool each other into chasing the wrong one,” Greg answered.

“Which is who?”

“No idea.”

Large red-and-orange fireballs bursted a long way away in the sky over the ocean. John and Greg turned away, deciding that it was pretty much over.

When they got to the dirty doorstep under the equally dusty yellow castle door, they saw a blue stray cat, passionately grooming itself. The red setter attempted to chase it away, but the cat ran inside the open door before anyone else. By the time John and Greg followed inside, the cat had turned into a tall man in black.

“Sherlock!” Greg shouted.

“I’m exhausted,” Sherlock said and sat in his chair.

Mike was flickering blue and slowly reached over to Sherlock’s hand, held out towards the grate.

“Did you kill the witch?” Greg asked, taking off his cloak.

“No,” Sherlock lazily blew his nose into a black handkerchief. “John, there’s a bottle of scotch in the corner next to the Persian slippers. Unless you’ve got to it already. Give it to me.”

John took off his own cloak and and fetched the wizard the bottle. Sherlock opened the bottle and carefully dripped some of the alcohol over Mike. The demon seemed to come alive at that. Sherlock conjured up a small glass and poured some scotch with shaking hands, and sipped on it. He was sweating and his eyes were red-rimmed.

“I have no idea who won. Moriarty is hard to beat. He relies mostly on his fire demon and stays behind, out of direct line of fire. But I think we gave them something to think about, eh, Mike?” Sherlock said.

“It’s old as hell itself,” Mike fizzled weakly. “I’m stronger, but it’s lived a hundred years longer and knows things. And it’s almost killed me! You could have warned me, man.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Sherlock protested. “And you know everything I know.”

Sherlock continued sipping on his scotch.

“Now he knows about Porthaven. We really must move the palace and the Kingsbury entrance, as well as transfer Mike to the hat shop.”

“No…” Mike whispered in defeat.

“Too bad, so sad,” said Sherlock mercilessly. “It’s either Market Chipping or Moriarty. Don’t make this any more difficult for me than it already is.”

“Damn it!” Mike wailed and subsided down under the logs.

 


	17. Fresh flowers

Sherlock set to work merely an hour of rest after the fight with the Wizard of the Waste. If he hadn’t coughed and sniffed from time to time, John wouldn’t have known that the wizard had been sick at all. As Sherlock and Greg dashed about the castle, marking strange signs at every corner with white pieces of chalk, John and the dog were pushed aside from time to time at Sherlock’s impatient command. Mike flickered nervously, watching the wizard and his apprentice run about the castle.

By mid-afternoon, Greg had marked a giant five-pointed star inside a circle on the floor in the middle of the living room. Sherlock came running down the stairs, his black clothes covered in white dust. Greg and he drew their magical signs inside the circle and the star. Sherlock grabbed a handful of ashes from the grate and sprinkled it along the edge of the circle. John and the dog sat silently on the workbench. The dog was quivering on John’s lap.

Sherlock yelled, “John! Have you decided what we’re going to sell at the shop?”

“Flowers,” John replied hastily.

“As you wish.”

Greg ran to the backyard and came back with a big silver shovel. Sherlock wrote his signs with his chalk all over the shovel and sprinkled emerald powder from a jar over the tool. Greg came to the bench and sat next to John, and brushed the dog’s back.

“Everyone stay clear,” Sherlock ordered. “Ready, Mike?”

“Oh, sure. Ready as I’ll ever be,” the demon grumbled with his eyes wide open. “You do know this could kill me, yeah?”

“On the bright side,” said Sherlock, “It’ll kill me first. Hold on tight. One… Two… Three.”

Sherlock lifted the fire demon from the hearth with the silver shovel. Greg held his breath. Sherlock slowly carried Mike on the shovel to the middle of the star.

The room filled with black smoke. Sherlock coughed. The dog shivered. John’s eyes watered. It was difficult to see clearly through all the smoke, but he saw a faintly glowing black lump pulsing slightly under Mike’s round blue face. Mike’s tiny blue arms were grabbing onto the sides of the shovel.

“Almost there!” Sherlock choked.

Keeping Mike at the middle of the star, Sherlock walked along the circle slowly, one complete turn. Mike extended up in a column of blue flame, not quite touching the ceiling. John was so mesmerized by Sherlock's calm elegance and Mike's grandeur that he didn’t notice the transformation, but by the time Sherlock had finished turning, the room had changed completely. Sherlock carefully went over to the brick-layered fireplace, and gently placed the demon in the hearth and piled logs after logs around him. Mike flickered joyously in his new home, and Sherlock leaned on the shovel and coughed.

The smoke still hung about in the air as the room rocked and locked into position. John looked around the familiar outline of the backroom of the hat shop he had come to know so well all his life. The room was still a bit blurry as the transformation process was not quite finished yet, but he could see the the familiar wooden shelves and display cases and the glass vases that had once carried colorful flowers to decorate the shop. The room was much larger than the Porthaven room.

“Are you doing it, Mike?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, hold on,” the fire was concentrating on something.

“Have you done it?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

“Oh my God, hold on,” the fire answered, equally impatiently. “Okay, done. Go ahead and check.”

Sherlock went to the backdoor of the shop, next to the fireplace, and turned the new color-wheel orange up and opened the door. John saw the familiar street of Market Chipping. People were casually strolling about before supper, as many did during summer. Sherlock closed the door and nodded at Mike in approval.

Sherlock reopened it brown up and John looked out onto a wide, weedy driveway with rows of bendy trees lining it. The orange setting sun lit up the desolate front yard that lay before a grand stone gateway in the distance.

“Where is this?” Sherlock asked.

“An empty mansion at the end of the valley,” answered Mike. “You told me to find a grand place. So I got one. Problem?”

“No, it’s fine,” Sherlock waved at Mike and closed the door. “Just hope the real owners don’t object.”

He turned the wheel yellow up and opened the door. A warm wind of different scents blew in. The view of flowy green grass and big purple flowers delighted John. The castle was slowly drifting through the field of white calla lilies. There was a small stream running through the field of colorful flowers and different types of trees stood by the stream at every few feet.

“Amazing!” John exclaimed.

“No, John,” Sherlock said. “Your big nose stays out of there until tomorrow. That part is right on the edge of the Waste.”

John hadn’t realized that he had walked up to the door until Sherlock spoke.

“This is good, Mike. Very good,” Sherlock turned to the fire and closed the door. “A house with lots of flowers.”

The smoke that had filled the room had gone out completely. Sherlock threw the silver shovel out the door that led to the courtyard then retired to his new bedroom in the main house across the courtyard, yawning. John then realized how exhausted he was and went over to sit on his red chair in front of dozing Mike. He thought about the interesting events of the day. Why had the castle moved so close to the Waste? Has the Wizard pulled Sherlock with the curse? Was this what Madame Holmes had meant by saying that Sherlock was going to the bad?

John looked around and saw Greg sleeping on the cluttered workbench in the middle of the room, leaning on the red setter. He looked at Mike lazily flickering blue and green. He thought back to the white faces that appeared during the flight. A thought occurred to John.

“Mike, were you ever a falling star?” John asked.

Mike opened one eye, “Yes.”

“Sherlock caught you?”

“Five years ago, mate. Porthaven Marshes, just when he set up as William the Sorcerer. He chased me in seven-league boots. I was terrified. When you fall, you know you’re going to die. And I really didn’t want to die. When Sherly offered to keep me alive, I suggested a contract on the spot. We didn’t know what we were getting into, then. I was grateful, and he said he only offered because he was sorry for me.”

“Just like Greg.”

“Just like our little Greggy.”

Next morning, the wheel was set at black-up and wouldn’t turn to any other color. John really wanted to see the flowers by the Waste. He was annoyed and scrubbed the floor of the chalk marks.

Sherlock came in dressed in complete black, his hair back to curly jet-black. He stepped over John and picked up the skull out of the sink.

“Ah, Billy,” he said. “We heard mermaids, didn’t we? I have caught an everlasting cold, but luckily I am a dishonest man. Let us cling to that.”

John exchanged glances with the dog. “You had better go back to Andrea,” he murmured to the dog then turned to Sherlock. “Miss Adler not going well?”

“Uh!” Sherlock huffed. “Irene Adler has a heart of stone, I tell you!”

He put the skull back into the sink and turned to Greg, still sound asleep on the bench.

“Food! Work!”

After breakfast, they cleaned out the rooms and organized the place. They put Sherlock’s knick-knacks from the backyard in a pile in a corner of the courtyard and settled themselves in the main house. John claimed his old bedroom as his own and Sherlock had claimed the biggest room. The window in his room overlooked the London backyard. John shoved the dusty things from the broom cupboard into his old workroom. He had never wanted to be in the room of unpaid labor, ever again.

John watched as Sherlock put up the sign that read S. WILLIAMS FRESH FLOWERS DAILY over the shop entrance outside.

“Changed your mind about common names, then?” John asked.

“Never. It’s for disguising purposes,” Sherlock answered. “I still prefer Shadowfax.”

“And where do we get fresh flowers?”

Sherlock led the way to the back door and they all went out through the yellow door. The beautifully-scented flower field opened up to John’s delight. Mike stopped the castle for them to step out. Sherlock helped John down the steps. Big bushes of brilliant white flowers and giant purple and pink John had never heard of scattered about the field around them. Even as an untrained man, John could tell that magic had been at work there. Especially when he noticed that the black metallic castle fitted into the place somehow.

There were hundreds of types of flowers, some of which weren’t even in season. Sherlock smiled at John’s delighted exclamation at every new type of flower he came across.

“We can cut flowers every morning and sell them in Market Chipping,” Sherlock said in his mellow, baritone voice. “If you come out alone, make sure you never go that way,” he pointed southeast. “The dark side is the Waste. Very hot, much barren, full of Moriarty.”

“Who made this place?” John asked. “The Wizard?”

“Sorcerer Mycroft started it last year. I believe he wanted to make the Waste flower and abolish Moriarty that way. He brought hot springs to the surface and got it growing. He was doing fine until Moriarty caught him.”

“Madame Holmes called him by another name. He came from the same place as you?”

“More or less. I never met him. I came and had another go at this place a few months later. I was curious how it would work out. That’s how I met Moriarty. He hated it.”

“Why?”

“He’s like a spider. He adores the darkness and he always needs to be at the center of everything. The flowers took the attention away from him. Pathetic, I say.”

John looked at the red rose bushes and asked, “Won’t he know you’re here?”

“I tried to do the thing he’d least expect,” Sherlock said.

“And trying to find Prince Augustus?” John asked.

Sherlock slithered out of answering by running back into the castle and calling for a Gilbert.

 


	18. The weather

They opened the flower shop the next day. Every morning, John and Greg would take the dog out to the flower field and pick buckets of a variety of flowers to take back to the shop. John was evidently skilled at arranging the flowers. Apparently, the years of arranging wax flowers and fruits on lady’s hats had come in handy at a completely different trade.

Sherlock was always missing while they gathered flowers. Instead, he went out the black door. He joined them for brunch, always in complete black.

“Before you ask, I’m in mourning for Madame Holmes,” he would tell John.

John suspected that the black shirt was really the purple one, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He just sighed. He asked about Sherlock’s whereabouts of the mornings.

“If you want to talk to a schoolteacher, you need to catch her before school starts,” the wicked man smiled wrily at John.

Sherlock insisted that John and Greg wear fine clothes if they wanted to attract customers. The first two days passed by with a few people who stared in through the windows. After that, the shop became very popular. Word had gone around that Williams had flowers no one had seen before. The hat shop customers John had known from his previous life came in to buy bundles of flowers. Everyone thought that John was Greg’s great-grandfather. John let it pass. Much better than Sherlock’s father, he supposed.

Some days, Sherlock would help around at the shop. This helped John be sure that the black shirt was definitely the purple one. Whenever Sherlock was around, all kinds of ladies from every corner of the town would come in and buy heaps of exotic flowers. Soon enough, the women would check through the windows to ascertain that Sherlock wasn’t in before coming into the shop. Completely understandable - no one would want to come in for a rose for a buttonhole and go out with three dozen irises.

When Sherlock wasn’t working at the shop, he spent his time at the courtyard, setting up defenses against the Wizard.

“By the time I’m done, he will get nowhere near here,” he told John.

The only problem with keeping the flower shop was the leftover flowers. They wouldn’t stay fresh overnight. Sherlock gave John the idea of experimenting. John found that talking to the flowers kept them fresh longer. He told Greg to make him a plant-nutrition spell, which John kept in the sink to use during experiments. He was delighted when he grew navy-blue tiger lilies, golden cherry blossoms with silver bands, and the like.  Now John understood why Sherlock was so obsessed with his experiments and getting results.

Greg went to visit Molly with bunches of flowers everyday. He came back cheerfully with boxes of pastries and cakes.

Mike, it seemed, was the only one in the house who was not happy with the living arrangement. The fireplace was placed in the backroom of the shop, and he had no one to talk to during the day when John and Greg were busy working.

“I want to see what it’s like out there,” he would say forlornly to John.

John brought Mike sweet-smelling leaves to burn, which left the castle room smell as strongly as the shop room. John tried to leave the shop throughout the day to keep Mike company. However, Mike was still discontented.

“When are you going to break my contract?” he would ask John.

“Still working on it,” John would say.

But they both knew it wasn’t quite true. John was content with the life now and didn’t bother thinking about the deal unless Mike brought it up. What with the Wizard of the Waste at Sherlock’s heels, John was afraid that breaking Sherlock and Mike up would bring bad news.

The dog was a doleful creature. It seemed to enjoy itself when it was chasing butterflies across the field every morning. The rest of the day found him trudging gloomily after John, whining unhappily.

The different types of roots John had been experimenting on showed very interesting results, except one grew very slowly. One day, it grew two round leaves at last. The next day, a long stem appeared in between the leaves and produced a tiny bud. The day after, the bud opened up into a pink flower. The root that had several limbs coming out of the main stem seemed to be staring up into John’s watery eyes.

Sherlock came into the room and stood behind John.

“What are you doing with that thing, John?” Sherlock asked scornfully.

Greg came to look, “It looks like a squashed baby.”

Sherlock picked up the plant by one of its tiny leaves, using his thumb and forefinger. “Brilliant, John! Good work!” he exclaimed.

“Really?” John was surprised.

“Not really!” Sherlock shouted. “It’s a mandrake root. Now aren’t _you_ a little gifted man?”

Sherlock went away, looking paler than usual.

So that was another checkmark. Only one thing was left of the curse: the wind to advance an honest mind. If it was Sherlock’s mind, then there was a very good chance that the curse might never come true. John told himself not to feel guilty - Sherlock deserved every punishment he could get, considering all the games he had been playing with the hearts of so many women.

The next morning, John was arranging large, red tropical flowers in a bucket when he heard a regular clump, clump, clump from outside. John’s heart nearly stopped when he looked up to see a raggedy scarecrow. It was determinedly hopping down the street toward the flower shop. John ducked behind the bucket of purple sunflowers and whispered urgently.

“We’re not here! You don’t know we’re here! You can’t find us! Hop away fast!”

The scarecrow that had slowed down as it neared the shop seemed confused and hopped away faster down the street.

John went into the castle room, still shaking from the scarecrow. Sherlock had gone out.

“He seemed mighty upset,” Greg said.

John looked at the black door and grumbled, “Not that upset.”

Greg went out to Mrs. Turner’s. It was a hot day and the flowers wilted despite John’s efforts and very little were sold. It was not a good week, with the mandrake root, the scarecrow, and now, the weather.

“Look at me! Cursed with being the eldest!” John grumbled to himself. “I set out to seek my own fortune and I’ve ended up right where I started, only older. Much older. And I didn’t even get to enjoy any of my youth, not that it would’ve been much better than this.”

The red setter came into the shop. It stretched and stretched, and with much effort and John’s encouragement, it straightened into the distraught red-haired man.

“Envy - Sherlock,” he panted. “Does that - so easily - I was - dog in - the hedge - you helped - Told Andrea - I knew you - I’d keep - watch - I was - here before - with - Moriart - arty - in shop!”

The man doubled up and transformed into a small grey bulldog. John scratched the back of its ears.

“Oh!” John shouted. “You were here with the Wizard! Then you know I’m under a spell! Does Andrea know, too?”

The dog shook its head.

“I remember he called you… Sebastian? Oh, dear, he’s made it harder for you!”

But he was still curious as to why Andrea had sent the dog-man here. John went to Mike to talk about the dog-man.

Mid-conversation, they saw the doorknob turn at black-up setting. They expected Sherlock to come through it. They were thoroughly astonished to see Miss Adler in a black dress at the doorway.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Miss Adler seemed equally surprised. “I thought Mr. Williams would be here.”

“He isn’t in,” John said stiffly.

He wondered where Sherlock had gone, if not to Miss Adler. Miss Adler came in with a hand over her mouth, looking around the room with a great amount of curiosity. John rushed over to stop her from coming in and walking around.

“Please,” Miss Adler pleaded. “Don’t tell Mr. Williams that I was here. To be honest, I only encouraged him in hopes of getting some news of my fiancé, Mark Hallard. I’m positive Mark disappeared to the same place Mr. Williams keeps going to. Just, Mark never came back.”

'Mark Hallard? Oh, Sorcerer Mycroft!' John thought. “Mr. Hallard isn’t here,” he said sternly.

“I know that,” Miss Adler said. “But this feels like the right place. May I have a look around to give myself some idea of the sort of life Mark’s leading now?”

She pushed past John and walked around the room. She picked up a bottle of blue powder off the desk and looked out the window.

“What a strange little place!” she said.

“Please-” John protested.

“What’s through that door?” asked the woman.

“A flower shop,” John answered.

She was as nosy as John was! What did Sherlock see in this woman, anyway? Miss Adler walked around the room, observing everything in the room. She finally noticed Sherlock’s violin leaning in its corner. She snatched it up and clutched it to her chest possessively.

“Mark had a violin just like this! It could be his!” she shouted.

“Sherlock bought it last winter,” John said.

“Something must have happened to Mark!” Miss Adler sounded pained. “He would never have parted from his violin! Where is he? What have you done with him?”

John wondered if he should tell her that Moriarty had caught Sorcerer Mycroft. He had half a mind to grab Billy from the sink and wave it in front of Miss Adler, claiming it was Sorcerer Mycroft’s, but thought better of it.

“May I take this violin?” Miss Adler asked tearily. “To remind me of Mark.”

John was annoyed and said, “No. Don’t be so final about it. You don’t have any proof that it’s his.”

He pulled the violin from Miss Adler’s arms and pushed her toward the open door. Miss Adler protested.

“Don’t be silly,” John said. “You’ve no right to walk into people’s palaces and take their violins. I’ve already told you Mr. Hallard isn’t here. Now go back to London.”

Miss Adler stumbled out the door and said reproachfully, “You’re hard.”

“Yes, yes,” John said remorselessly and slammed the door shut.

John turned the wheel brown up and turned toward Mike.

“Don’t you dare tell Sherlock about this. I bet she came to see him. I bet you Sorcerer Mycroft came to get away from that pesky woman!”

Mike chuckled, “I’ve never seen anyone get rid of so fast!”

John frowned and went to the corner to set down the violin. Miss Adler was indeed a beautiful woman but she had no business with Sherlock. Or Sherlock had no business with her. Either way, John told himself not to care. He went over to the blue hydrangeas that were soaking in the bucket of nutrition spell.

“Be hydrangeas!” he snarked. “Be hydrangeas, you foul creatures!”

The bulldog barked once behind John and went away. Greg came into the shop merrily, carrying a pink box of cake, and looked at John. He immediately remembered a new spell and retreated to the courtyard.

John growled at the flowers, “Be hydrangeas! Be hydrangeas!”

It didn’t make him feel any better.

 


	19. Bulldog

Sherlock came in at the end of the afternoon. He seemed so cheery that John thought that he had gotten over the mandrake root incident. However, the fact that Sherlock hadn’t even gone to London wasn’t enough to make John feel any better. John ignored him and glared at Mike.

“What’s the matter, John?” Sherlock was taken aback at the hostility.

John snared, “Where did you get that shirt?”

Sherlock looked down at his black dress shirt and asked, “Does it matter?”

“Yes, Sherlock, it matters!” John snapped. “And don’t give me that nonsense about mourning.”

Sherlock took off the black suit jacket and looked down at his shirt and contemplated for a moment. He touched the collar of the shirt and it turned shiny purple for a second.

“This,” he said quietly.

Outrage was painted all over John’s face by the time the collar was turned back into deep black.

“John, my dear John,” Sherlock chuckled in the most amused way.

The bulldog rushed into the castle room and attempted to jump up to John’s lap on its short legs. It never let Sherlock talk to John for long. John picked up the dog and rubbed its back. Sherlock stared at the dog with a confused expression.

“You’ve got an English bulldog now,” he remarked. “It used to be the setter. He’s under a spell, I see.”

Sherlock reached for the dog but evidently, Sherlock’s touch was the last thing the dog wanted. He gave out a yelp and jumped off of John’s lap. However, it could only get so far on its short, stumpy legs and was caught immediately by Sherlock.

“John,” Sherlock said, “Whatever do you mean by not telling me about this? This dog is a man!”

He put the dog down and glared at John with angry blue-grey eyes.

“Well, you are supposed to be this great wizard,” John said. “What, you couldn’t deduce this man was under a spell at a glance? And how long has he been living with us?”

Sherlock was still angry, “I would have noticed if I hadn’t had important things on my mind. Come on, in front of Mike.”

Sherlock dragged the unwilling dog in front of the fire and yelled for Garrett. Greg ran into the room.

“Did you know that this was actually a man?” Sherlock barked.

“What? No! He’s not, though, is he?” Greg was shocked.

“Then I only have John to blame,” Sherlock said. “But you knew, too, Mike.”

“Yeah, well, you never asked,” Mike quirked his mouth to one side.

“Must I ask? Fine! Yes, I should have noticed myself. But really, Mike. Compared to the way Moriarty treats his demon, you have it so good, here. All I ask in return is that you let me know these things! This is twice you’ve let me down! Now help me fix this.”

“Fine,” Mike sulked.

The navy blue fire reached out to wrap around Sherlock’s outstretched left arm, and Sherlock gently put his right hand on the dog’s forehead.

“A heavy spell,” Mike grumbled. “Feels like one of Mori’s, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, layers of it,” Sherlock murmured. “But let's get rid of the dog part for now.”

Mike roared blue up the chimney. The dog began shifting upright and turned into a ginger-haired man in a crumpled old light-grey three-piece suit. Just like the Sebastian who scurried after Moriarty into the hat shop way back when, the dog-man’s face was completely lacking in personality. John was surprised that he hadn’t recognized it earlier.

“Now, who are you?” Sherlock asked gently.

“I- I’m not so sure,” the man answered in an unsteady, soft voice.

His legs shook and John led him to the black chair.

“The most recent name he answered to was Richard,” Mike said.

The man frowned at Mike in disapproval and said, “Did I?”

“Then we’ll call you Richard for now,” Sherlock said. “Tell us what you do remember. It looks like the Wizard had you for some time.”

“Y- yes,” Richard rubbed his face with a shaky hand. “He took my head off. I- I remember looking at the rest of my body from a shelf.”

“But you’d be dead!” Greg was astonished.

“Not necessarily,” Sherlock said. “It’s a very advanced magic. But it’s possible to take a part of you off and leave the rest of your body alive. But Moriarty hasn’t put this one back together properly.”

“He’s incomplete,” Mike said. “And he’s got parts from another man.”

Richard looked even more frustrated.

“Don’t be alarmed, at least it makes you mildly interesting,” Sherlock said to the man. “Do you know why the Wizard took your head off?”

“No, I don’t remember anything else.”

Greg suddenly interrupted excitedly, “Did you ever answer to the name Augustus, or maybe Charles - or Your Royal Highness?”

Ridiculous. John snorted.

“No, the Wizard called me Sebastian, but all I know is that that isn’t my name,” Richard frowned.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gerard,” Sherlock said. “ And don’t make John snort again. In his current mood, he’ll bring down the whole palace next time.”

Although Sherlock didn’t seemed to be angry anymore, John found himself more upset than ever. John stomped to the sink and found a bucketful of poisonous murky liquid instead of the hydrangeas he had yelled at earlier that day.

“Gah!” he exclaimed.

“What now?” Sherlock came over to the sink. “Oomph, that’s some strong weed-killer you’ve got there, John. Flower-experimenting not enough for you?”

“I’m going to the mansion drive and killing weeds,” John grumbled. “I feel like killing something.”

John got out a metal watering can and carried the can and the bucket out the brown door. Richard looked up from the violin Greg had given him. It was obvious he didn’t know what to do with it by the sound of horrible twangings coming from the instrument. He hadn’t even touched the bow.

“Go with him, Richard,” Sherlock said. “By the look of him, he might end up killing all the trees, too.”

Richard put down the violin and took the bucket from John.

The front yard and the drive were golden-brown and dark-green with overgrown weeds. John looked back up to the dirty, grey mansion with bronze gargoyles and silver statues. All the windows were either very much broken or incredibly dirty.

“What’s the point was being able to do magic?” John grumbled. “If you can’t keep a single house looking like there are people living in it? Always so busy going off to that Adler woman in London! Well, don’t just stand there and pour some weed-killer into the can!”

Richard hurriedly moved at the command with a blank face. He seemed to have been conditioned to being ordered around.

The weed-killer was some strong stuff. The instant it touched the thick stems, the weeds crumbled and shriveled to the ground with a hiss. They worked down the driveway and John spoke again.

“You remember a great deal more than you let on, don’t you?” he looked up at Richard. “What did the Wizard want with you? Why did he bring you into the shop with him that time?”

“He wanted to find out about Sherlock,” Richard answered quietly.

“Sherlock? But you didn’t know him, did you?”

“No, but I must have known something. It had to do with the curse the Wizard had put on Sherlock. The Wizard took it after we came to the shop. I feel badly about that. I was trying to stop him knowing, because curses are evil things, and I thought about Andrea to do it. She was just in my head. I don’t know how I knew her, because Andrea said she had never seen me when I went to Upper Folding. But I knew so much about her. The Wizard made me tell him about Andrea and I said only her family name and something about a hat shop in Market Chipping. So the Wizard went there to teach us both a lesson. I was horrified, because I didn’t know Andrea had a sibling.”

John sprayed the weed-killer, wishing that the weeds were all Moriarty. “Did he turn you into a dog after that?” he asked.

“Just outside the town. He said to me, ‘Off you run. I’ll call when I need you.’ So I ran because I could feel a spell following me. As soon as I got to a farm, it caught me and people saw me changing into a dog. They thought I was a werewolf and tried to kill me. I had to bite one to get away. But I couldn’t get rid of the stick, and it got stuck in the hedge when I tried to get through.”

“Then you went to Mrs. Hudson’s?”

“Yes, I was looking for Andrea. They were very kind to me, even though they had never seen me before. And Sherlock kept visiting to court Andrea. She didn’t want him and asked me to bite him to get rid of him, until he started asking her about you and-”

“What?” John narrowly missed burning his shoes with the weed-killer.

“He said, ‘I know someone called John who has your eyes.’ And Andrea said, ‘That’s my brother,’ without thinking. And she got terribly worried because Sherlock kept asking about her brother. The day you came, she was being nice to him to find out how he knew you. Sherlock said you were an old man. And Mrs. Hudson said she’d seen you. Andrea cried and cried. She said, ‘Something terrible has happened to John! And the worst of it is he’ll think he’s safe from Sherlock. John’s too kind to see how heartless Sherlock is!' She was so upset that I managed to turn into a man long enough to say I’d go and protect you.”

“It’s very kind of her and I love her very much for it,” John said. “I’ve been quite as worried about her, myself. But I don’t need a watchdog.”

“Yes, you do,” Richard said. “Or you did. I seemed to have arrived too late.”

John swung the watering can at him and Richard jumped back.

“You know what? I’m done here!” John threw the can toward the stone gateway. “Too late, my arse! Sherlock’s not only heartless, he’s impossible! And I am an old man.” He walked up the driveway. “And all the things I told the Queen are true!” he muttered.

He was going to go far away from the castle and Sherlock and everyone else. He would put on the seven-league boots and just run. Who cared if Madame Holmes had relied on John to keep Sherlock from going to the bad? John was a failure anyway. That’s what came with being the eldest.

“Damn the purple shirt! I refuse to believe that I was the one that got caught with it!” John felt himself blush. “For one thing, I am not a lady! And Sherlock doesn’t like me!”

John felt a bit better when he got that out of his system. He considered leaving the mansion right this moment, but the sun was setting rapidly and he heard a faint tock, tock, tock. He looked over past the stone gate and saw a skinny figure with outstretched arms, hopping toward the mansion. John quickly hobbled up to Richard and held onto his sleeve.

“We’re not here,”John whispered fiercely. “You can’t find us.”

The scarecrow slowed down a moment. Richard stared at John with confusion.

“Go away. Go away fast! Not here. Not here. We’re not here. Go away fast. Twice as fast, three times as fast, ten times as fast. Go away!”

The scarecrow swayed around and took giant leaps faster and faster into the great distance. John sighed.

“What’s wrong with it?” Richard asked. “Why don’t you want it?”

John shuddered and picked up the watering can. He led Richard with the bucket of weed-killer up to the house. He was surprised to see a shiny, white limestone structure with golden bands. Clean and unbroken windows lined the walls, and sparkling gargoyles and statues decorated the building. A creamy, ivory door with a golden doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head with a ring in its mouth was left slightly ajar.

“Huh!” John huffed.

When he opened the door further open, there was a loud crash inside. John stepped into the castle room and saw Greg and Sherlock hastily dismantling a spell. John knew that the spell must have been a listening-in spell. John stormed in and looked around.

“Eavesdroppers!” he shouted.

“What’s wrong? Would you rather that the mansion be painted a different color?” Sherlock said smoothly.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about! You heard more than that, didn’t you? How long have you known I was- I am-”

“Under a spell?” Sherlock said.

“I told him,” Greg said nervously. “My Andrea-”

“You!” John yelled.

“The other Andrea let the cat out of the bag, too,” Sherlock said. “She did. Mrs. Hudson talked a great deal that day. Even Mike told me when I asked. But did you honestly think that I don’t know my own business not to spot a strong spell like that when I see it? I had several goes at it when you weren’t looking. Nothing worked. I even took you to Madame Holmes but evidently, _she_ couldn’t do anything about it. I’ve come to the conclusion that you liked being in disguise.”

“Disguise!” John yelled.

“After all, you _are_ doing it yourself,” Sherlock laughed. “You have a very strange family. Is your name Andrea, too?”

John grabbed the bucket half-full of weed-killer from Richard’s hands and threw it at Sherlock. Greg and Mike ducked. The murky substance burned away the parts of the room and the fresh flowers it touched. Unfortunately for John, Sherlock merely stood elegantly in his spot and didn’t flinch a bit as the substance flew past him.

“Phew, that’s strong,” Mike remarked.

“Of course,” Sherlock said and went over to the sink and picked up Billy. “John doesn’t do anything by halves.”

He wiped the weed-killer off Billy with his sleeve, and put the newly-polished skull on the bench.

John desperately wanted to leave the castle for good in that moment, but he remembered that the scarecrow was still out there. He threw himself into his chair instead.

“John,” Sherlock said. “I did my best. Haven’t you noticed that your aches and pains have been better lately?”

When John didn’t say anything, Sherlock turned to Richard. “I’m glad you have a brain after all,” he said. "You were getting boring."

“I really don’t remember much,” Richard said.

The man stopped behaving like a half-wit. He picked the violin up and tuned it. Sherlock conjured a block of rosin in the air in front of Richard. The man began playing a sorrowful tune.

“Nice, nice,” Sherlock said. “I’ve never been much of a musical man. Do you really not know what Moriarty was trying to find out?”

“He wanted to know about London,” Richard answered.

“Ah, I knew it,” Sherlock said nonchalantly. “Well.”

Sherlock went into the bathroom and stayed there for the next two hours. Richard played a number of music pieces for John. Greg attempted to rid the floor and ceiling of the weed-killer with a smoking rag. Mike kept passing careful glances at John’s grumpy face.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom with his suit glossy black, his straight slicked-back hair in glossy white, smelling of lilies.

“I may take a while,” he told Greg. “It’s Midsummer Day in a few hours, and Moriarty may try something tonight. Keep your defenses up.”

“All right,” Greg said.

“I think I know what’s happened to you,” Sherlock said to Richard. “It will be difficult to solve but I’ll see what I can do when I get back.” He turned to look at John. “Still not talking to me, John?”

John was angry at Sherlock for using him to get information out of Richard. “No!”

Sherlock smiled awkwardly and went out the London door. John saw the wheel turned black-up and told himself that he was leaving tomorrow.


	20. Elephant

The moment Midsummer Day dawned, Sherlock crashed in through the door. He made such noise that John could hear the commotion from all the way up in his room. He was convinced that the Wizard had finally got through the defenses.

John ran into the castle room with the silver shovel he had grabbed from the courtyard on the way. Sherlock was laboriously climbing up the workbench, groaning loudly.

“What’s going on?” John asked worriedly.

“A case, John,” Sherlock looked up at John with red-rimmed eyes. “The Yard called in for help. Went undercover to a bar and solved the thing in mere two hours. If London’s finest had used one percent of their tiny, little brains, they would’ve solved it weeks ago! Now I’m hungover. And Sigerson’s never going to let me near my beloved niece and nephew.”

“You’re not hungover,” Mike said from his fireplace. “You’re still pissed. How long has it been since you passed out from only two hours of drinking?”

“Shut up!” Sherlock groaned. “You’re interrupting me from going to bed. Let me concentrate.”

“Your bedroom’s that way,” John pointed to the door that led to the courtyard.

Sherlock looked up at John through a mess of curly black hair that covered his forehead and said, “I am aware, John. I’m just taking a break. Did you know there’s two hundred and forty-three different types of tobacco ash?”

John turned to Mike and mouthed, ‘What?,’ and Mike merely shook his head in disapproval. Sherlock fell off the bench with a loud thump and quickly got onto his feet. He swayed over to the courtyard door and before going out through it, he turned to John.

“I know ash...” Sherlock’s baritone voice dragged at the last word. He smiled and blinked his eyes, in a way that could only have been a failed attempt at a wink, then swayed out the door. John snorted in disbelief.

Soon after, Greg and Richard came into the castle room, complaining how Sherlock’s snoring shook the whole house.

The three set out the yellow door and picked buckets of different types of flowers, only Richard was running around chasing purple butterflies. It appeared that he still had the instincts of a dog. Or possibly he was just trying to get out of work. Either way, John sighed at the merry man.

“He’s made it much better,” Richard said when he ran over to John.

“Hmm?” Greg said.

“Sherlock. There were only tiny bushes and tree saplings at first. Everything was small and dry.”

“You’ve been here before?” Greg seemed to think that the idea of him being the Prince was getting a strong case.

“I think I was here with the Wizard,” Richard stared dreamily into the distance.

They acquired five buckets of flowers. When they got back inside, Greg turned the color wheel several times. Probably as a precaution to keep the Wizard out.

Although it was Midsummer Day, it was a grey and chilly day in Market Chipping. It was still holiday enough for half the town to come into the shop to buy flowers. So many people in fancy dresses came in that they got enough money to buy a small house at the edge of the town.

As the rush of customers thinned, John stole into the castle door, packing some food for his trip.

“Whisper sweet nothings into my ear, my good man,” Mike said.

“What?” John asked.

“I’m bored. Talk to me.”

“Hold on,” John added another loaf into the pack.

“But-”

There was a knock at the door. Mike and John looked at each other in fear.

“Mansion,” Mike whispered. “Flesh and blood, and harmless.”

John turned the wheel brown up and cautiously opened the door. There was a carriage in the drive, pulled by well-groomed brown horses. There was a large footman standing in front of the door.

“Mrs. Victor Trevor to call upon the new occupants,” the footman said with a thick accent.

Oh, this isn’t awkward. This must have been the result of Sherlock’s remodeling of the mansion.

“I’m sorry bu-” John began.

Mrs. Victor Trevor swept the footman aside and came in. “Wait with the carriage, Jeff,” the golden-haired lady said to the footman as she walked in past John, folding her parasol.

John gaped at Harry’s face. Harry looked incredibly prosperous in cream silk. She was wearing John’s ivory hat with pink flowers. He remembered saying, ‘You’re going to have to marry money’ to the hat. And clearly, Harry had.

“Er, we’re not quite moved in yet, Madam.” John wondered how Harry would react when she found her old hat shop just beyond this room.

Harry turned around and looked at John. “John!” she exclaimed. “Oh my good Lord, child, what’s happened to you? You look about ninety! Have you been ill?”

To John’s surprise, Harry threw aside her hat and parasol, and flung her arms around John’s neck.

“Oh, I didn’t know what had happened to you!” she sobbed. “I went to Molly and Andrea, and neither of them knew! Did you know that they changed places, the silly girls? But nobody knew a thing about you! And here you turn up, working as a servant, when you could be living in luxury up the hill with me and Mr. Trevor!”

John found tears running down his face. He quickly wiped his face and led Harry to the red chair. He sat on the black one. They chatted and cried and laughed.

“It’s a long story,” John said when Harry asked what had happened to him. “I looked into the mirror and saw myself this way, and I just didn’t know what to do. So I just wandered away…”

“You’ve overworked yourself to this state,” Harry said. “I suppose I only have myself to blame.”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. Wizard Sherlock took me in-”

“Wizard Sherlock! The wicked, wicked man! Did he do this to you? Where is he? I must do something about that man!” Harry seized her parasol and flung it about this way and that.

“No, no!” John stopped her. “Sherlock has been very kind to me.”

It was true. Sherlock had been kind to John in a rather strange fashion and annoyed him quite a bit, but he had been good, nonetheless.

“But they say he eats women alive!” Harry said.

“Well, I’m not exactly a woman, so no worries there,” John grabbed the parasol out of Harry’s hands. “Besides, he really doesn’t eat them. He’s really not wicked at all!” John ignored Mike’s fizzing. “In all the time I was here, Sherlock’s never done a single evil spell.”

“Then I suppose I shall believe you,” Harry relaxed. “I’m sure it’s your doing if he’s reformed. You always did have a way with you, John. You could always stop Molly’s tantrums when I couldn’t do a thing about her. And I always knew it was your doing that Andrea only got her way half the time instead of all the time! But you should have told me where you were, my dear!”

John realized that he should have. He had taken Molly’s view of Harry and forgotten how kind and generous Harry really was. He felt ashamed.

Harry excitedly told John about Mr. Victor Trevor. She had met the sophisticated, rich man the week John had left, and married him after no more than four days. John watched Harry as she chatted. His ancient eyes gave him an entirely new view of the woman. She was still young and pretty, and she had found the hat-shop life as mundane as John did. But she still had stuck with it and done her best with both the shop and the three children.

“-Then what with you not being there and no one to pass it down to, there really was no reason to keep the shop,” Harry said.

“All the flowers sold, we’ve shut the shop, and look who’s here!” Greg came into the room, holding Molly’s hand.

Molly was thinner and fairer and almost looked like herself. Her cheeks were rosy with the aid of her pink dress. She let go of Greg and rushed to John.

“John, you should have told me!” she shouted as she clung on to John’s neck.

Then Molly turned to Harry and hugged her tightly, as though she hadn’t said anything bad to John long ago.

But there was more. Mrs. Hudson in a purple dress and Andrea in navy blue came in through the shop door. Richard followed them carrying a basket, looking so much livelier than he had ever been.

“We came over by carriage at first light, and we brought-” Mrs. Hudson said. “My goodness, Harriet!”

The old witch ran over to Harry and they greeted each other with hugs and kisses. There was a lot of hugging and shouting and laughing that John wondered how Sherlock didn’t wake up. He could still hear the wizard’s distant snoring. He decided to leave that evening, once everyone had left. He was much too glad to see his family again that he didn’t consider going anywhere before then.

Andrea was proud of Richard. She hung onto his arm possessively and made him tell her all he remembered. Richard didn’t seem to mind. Andrea looked so lovely that John understood him.

“He just arrived and kept turning into a man then into different dogs, insisting that he knew me,” Andrea said. “I was sure that I had never seen him before, but it didn’t matter.” Andrea patted the man on the head, but the man seemed too happy to be offended by it.

“But you had met Prince Augustus?” John asked.

“Oh, yes,” Andrea said. “He disguised himself in a brown uniform, but it was so obviously him. He was quite smooth and courtly, even though he was distressed by the finding spells. We had to make him two batches because they would keep showing that Sorcerer Mycroft was somewhere between us and Market Chipping, and the Prince swore that couldn’t be true. And all the time I was doing them, he would interrupt me, calling me ‘sweet lady’ all sarcastically and asking me all sort of questions about my family and where I had come from and such. I’d much rather have Wizard Sherlock, and that’s certainly saying a lot!”

Mrs. Hudson had brought enough chicken and wine to feed an elephant, and everyone sat around eating and drinking. Mike seemed to be shy. He had gone down to green flickers and nobody noticed him. John tried to coax him out to introduce him to Andrea.

“So there really _is_ a demon who has charge of Sherlock’s life!” Andrea was interested.

John looked up to Andrea to assure her that he was quite real, and saw Miss Adler standing by the door, looking around uncertainly. Her hair was down, and she was wearing a tight green jumper and tight blue trousers.

“Oh, excuse me. I’ve come at a bad time, haven’t I?” Miss Adler said shily. “I just wanted to speak to Scott.”

John stood up. He thought back to the time he had driven Miss Adler out. He had only done that because Sherlock had been courting her. But then, it didn’t mean that he had to like her.

Greg stood up and beamed at the woman. “He’s asleep at the moment. Come join us while you wait.”

“How kind,” Miss Adler said unhappily.

She refused the glass of wine Greg offered and stood idly by the door.

“What peculiar clothes!” Harry chatted constantly with Mrs. Hudson.

Molly had seen the way Greg had looked at this strange woman, and wouldn’t let him talk to anyone but John and herself. Andrea ignored the woman and sat with Richard out in the flower shop.

After minutes of this, Miss Adler finally decided to walk outside. John insisted that she stay and wait for Sherlock.

“Oh, no. I’ve got the day off, and I’m quite happy to wait. I thought I’d go and explore outside. It’s rather stuffy in here,” Miss Adler said.

John realized that it might be the perfect way to get rid of her and opened the door for her. Somehow, the wheel had been turned yellow up and the door opened onto a misty field of red and blue flowers. Before John could hurriedly close the door, Miss Adler ran out.

“What gorgeous rhododendrons!” she exclaimed.

John didn’t expect any harm to come from the situation, and he really didn’t want to follow the woman around. “Don’t go toward the southeast!” he called after her.

“I won’t go far at all!” Miss Adler shouted back.

The castle drifted away from the woman picking a white flower from the ground.

John closed the door, when Mike burst out from his sulk and shot out a blue flame up the chimney.

“SHERLOCK!” he roared. “Sherlock! Scott Williams, the spider has found your pressure point!”

A loud crash was heard from the main house. Sherlock, with messy raven hair and red eyes, shot into the room. John’s guests gasped in shock.

“Thanks, Mike!” The wizard shot out the London door.

John rushed across the courtyard, into the house, and up to Sherlock’s bedroom. The others followed him. John looked out the window. It was drizzling in London. Moriarty’s glossy, combed hair was dewed with the drizzle. He stood casually leaning against the swing set, beckoning in his black suit. Sherrin slowly walked towards him with a slight frown. Ford, equally discontented, followed his sister even more slowly. Sigerson was behind his children, shouting something at the Wizard. But he was also being drawn toward the wicked man.

Sherlock burst out onto the lawn. He had not bothered to alter his appearance at all. He charged at Moriarty with determination. Before Sherrin got within Moriarty’s reach, Sherlock grabbed her and slung her behind him. Moriarty ran. Sherlock ran. Moriarty swiftly jumped over the tall, white fence. Sherlock jumped over the fence gracefully. They vanished out of sight behind the fence. Sigerson quickly took his children indoors and slammed the door shut.

After a while, everyone went back into the castle room. Greg talked about showing Molly around the mansion and accidentally opened the yellow door. As soon as the door opened, a scarecrow hopped into the room. John had told it to go ten times as fast and, apparently, it had leaped so fast that it had gotten to the Waste so quickly.

Molly clutched at Andrea’s arm. Richard was standing and staring, and Greg went over to the bench to keep the yattering skull from falling.

“The scarecrow is saying that it means no harm,” Mike said to John. “I think he’s telling the truth. Tell him to come in.”

The scarecrow was standing by the door, waiting politely. John told him to come him. The raggedy turnip-face hopped sideways closer to the bench. Billy kept yattering in Greg’s hands until it bit a finger. Greg yelped at the bite and threw the skull in the air. Just then, the scarecrow lowered its head toward the skull. The rotting turnip was magically filled by it. The turnip molded into the shape of the grinning human skull.

“Now I can finally speak,” Billy the Scarecrow said in a mushy voice.

“I’m going to faint,” Harry announced.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Hudson said. “It’s only a magician’s golem. It has to do what it was sent to do. Quite harmless, I must say.”

Richard fainted and flopped to the floor. Andrea made to run toward the body, but was abruptly stopped when Billy hopped in front of it first. “This is one of the parts I was sent to find,” it said. It swung to face John. “I must thank you. My skull was far away and I ran out of strength before I could reach it. I would have been stuck in that bush forever if you hadn’t talked life into me.”

“Who sent you? What are you supposed to do?” John asked.

“More than this,” the intruder said uncertainly. “There are parts still missing.”

“What is Richard a part of?” Greg asked.

“Let it collect itself,” Mike said. “No one’s asked it to explain itself before-”

Mike suddenly stopped and shrank into glowing green. John and Greg exchanged alarmed glances.

Out of nowhere, an enlarged and muffled voice boomed throughout the room.

GREGORY LESTRADE, TELL YOUR MASTER, SHERLOCK, THAT HE FELL FOR MY DECOY. I NOW HAVE THE WOMAN CALLED IRENE ADLER IN MY FORTRESS IN THE WASTE. TELL HIM I WILL ONLY LET HER GO IF HE COMES TO FETCH HER HIMSELF. IS THAT CLEAR, GREGORY LESTRADE?

Billy whirled around and leaped out of the open door.

“Oh, no!” Greg cried out. “The Wizard must have sent it so he could get it in here!”

 


	21. Final problem

Greg and Molly ran after the scarecrow. Andrea went over to Richard. While the others wandered about the room bewildered, John grabbed his cane and hobbled to the flower shop.

“This is my fault!” he murmured to himself. “I should have kept her in here and at least talked to her. Or something. Sherlock’s never going to forgive me for this.”

John dumped the hibiscus and daffodils and water out of the seven-league boots into the sink and set out the shop door. The crowds of people have faded - they must have been at the Market Square. John looked up at the sun, lazily burning behind the grey clouds, and determined southeast. He put the boots in the right direction and put his own feet in them.

“Take me to the Waste and quickly!” John whispered to the boots. “Let the wind help you!”

Zip-zip, zip-zip, zip-zip. John felt the wind assisting to push him toward the Waste, as the boots didn’t even bother to touch the ground at this unnatural speed. John rushed past the white mansion down at the end of the valley, the blue river that cut through the green valley, endless blue in the far distance, the Queen’s towering Palace, and Sherlock’s own moving palace standing still among the rustling colorful flowers. John took another stride and landed amongst black and grey hills of rocks and rubble.

“This must be the Waste,” John whispered, wiping his eyebrows. “They named it quite well.”

John looked around and saw nothing but the vast sea of black and grey. The land was desolate and it appeared that the sunlight didn’t even dare to touch it. The air was thick and heavy with unnaturally moist heat, rising from the ground. There was a lonely mountain of black that was letting out a dark grey smoke at the top. It reminded John of an enormous chimney.

“I have a strong feeling that just may be where the Wizard is,” John told himself.

He carefully took another stride. Zip! He was standing at the bottom of the mountain of black rocks and dark-red bricks. He could see that the volcanic structure was a product of magic, rather than nature. He took off the boots and stared up at the mountain, wondering how he was to get in. The circumference of this giant chimney was so great that John couldn’t bring himself to walk around it to look for an entrance. If he were to take a stride in the seven-league boots, he would end up just far away from the mountain.

As he stood at the spot, contemplating his next move, two orange figures rose from the ground. They must have been sent by the Wizard.

“Good afternoon,” John decided that politeness was the best way to go at this point.

The orange figures wordlessly drifted toward John and engulfed him in their own gelatinous selves. John was instantly covered in thick, orange gelatin, the way Sherlock had been covered in his green slime in what seemed to John like a lifetime ago. John panicked and his old heart quickened.

In that moment, John may or may not have regretted his decision of coming here without having waited for Sherlock first. Who really minded about Miss Adler, anyway? And Sherlock was going to dump her just the way he had done with so many other women before. Being in Moriarty’s clutches could have been better than getting her heart broken by Sherlock. If they were lucky, Miss Adler and Moriarty may have ended up falling in love and settling down in the Waste or what-not. To John, the two villains of his life seemed to go pretty well together.

But here he was, suffocating inside Moriarty’s gelatin. John accepted his fate. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the orange substance. Dying heroically during a rescue mission was way better than dying of old age that had been caused by the wicked Wizard, he supposed. At least this was caused by his own miscalculations. He had only himself to blame.

John took his final breath, expecting gelatin to come into his nostrils, and found that he could breathe freely. There was no sign of the orange gelatin. He opened his eyes to see Moriarty’s dark eyes fixed on him from across the large room.

John looked about. He was standing in the middle of a grey cement ground that lined a vast, rectangular pool of steaming lava, placed in the middle of the room. John felt himself sweating from the heat that was coming from the red-orange lava. The pool of lava lit up the otherwise dark room. Moriarty in a silver suit was standing before a strange figure at the far end of the cement ground.

“Done with your tour, my dear?” Moriarty purred.

“I’ve come to take back Miss Adler,” John said as proudly as he could. “Give her back and I’ll be gone.”

The Wizard chuckled, “And if I don’t?”

John held up his cane as threateningly as he could, and charged at the grinning Wizard.

“Uh, so uncreative," Moriarty said in a sing-songy voice and rolled is eyes. "Boring!"

He waved his hand at John. Instantly, some of the lava from the pool flew toward John and created a burning cage around him. Obviously, John couldn’t move any further unless he wanted to burn to death. He stood still in the unforgiving heat, hoping his lungs could survive this.

“I don’t know what he sees in you,” the Wizard muttered.

“Let me go!” John shouted.

“No.” Moriarty sang.

“Where’s Miss Adler?” John sighed.

“You’ll see. Let’s wait for Sherlock to come.”

“He’s not coming,” John said. “He’s smarter than that. And your curse hasn’t all worked anyway.”

“Hmm, you sound so sure. Pathetic," Moriarty grinned wickedly. “Besides, now that you have fallen for our deception and come here, Sherlock will have to be honest for once.”

Moriarty gestured at the figure sitting limply on the chair behind him. The figure sat up straight. It was a headless man in a brown uniform and long, shiny boots. John realized that he was staring at what was left of Prince Augustus.

“Oh God, put his head back on right now!” John shouted.

“Already disposed both heads a month ago,” Moriarty said. “I sold Mikey’s skull when I sold his violin. The Prince’s head is walking around somewhere with the other leftover parts. You’re looking at the perfect mixture of Prince Charles Augustus and Sorcerer Mycroft. It is just waiting for Sherlock’s head, to make it our perfect human. When we have his head, we shall have the new King of Ingary - that is me, hello! - and his advisor.”

“You’re mad!”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Sherlock’s head will never do a thing you want. It’ll just slither out,” John said.

“Sherlock will do exactly as we say. We shall control his fire demon.”

John knew he had to get out before any such thing happened. “Where is Miss Adler?” he asked again.

The Wizard waved his hand dismissively and leaned on the figure’s shoulder.

“I’m tired,” he grumbled. “You people keep spoiling our plans. First Sorcerer Mycroft wouldn’t come near the Waste, so I had to threaten Princess Janine to make the Queen order him out here. Then, when he finally came, he grew trees. Then Mary wouldn’t let Prince Augy follow Myc for months. When he did follow, the fool went up north for some reason, and I had to use all my arts to bring him down here. And then there’s Sherlock. He got away once. I had to use a curse to reel him in, and while I was finding out enough about him to lay the curse, you got into what was left of Mycroft’s brain somehow and caused me more trouble. And now when you get here, you keep yelling at me like the little peasant that you are. I have worked very hard for this moment, and I will not be argued with.”

Moriarty slowly turned around and strolled up toward John’s cage. He did indeed look tired with little stubble around his mouth and dark bags under his eyes. John thought that the Wizard's age must have been catching up with him.

When Moriarty had come halfway to the cage, there came a dull booming sound. The black wall broke next to the Wizard and showered him with stones and bricks. In through the opening leaped the scarecrow.

Moriarty howled in rage and proceeded to brush his shoulders with his hands. Billy jumped on the Wizard and both fell to the ground. The two figures were soon wrapped in a magic cloud of black and brown. Sparks and shrieks filled the air. The pool of lava churned.

While Moriarty’s attention was on Billy, John took the chance to wave his cane through his lava cage. He guessed that Madame Holmes had been correct when she had called his cane a magic wand. The lava quickly moved away to avoid the cane until a hole large enough for John to fit through was created. He stepped out of the cage and wondered if he should join the ruckus under the cloud.

Just then, a giant blue cloud coiled in through the opening and joined in the fight. John heard loud thundering and more white sparks throughout the twisting clouds. John felt helpless, but stood against the wall next to the empty cage, away from the loud commotion and the excited lava.

All of a sudden, everything subsided and the room was filled with silence. The cage crumbled into a pool of lava next to John. John hastily hobbled around the pool toward the vanishing clouds. The scarecrow hopped on its stick from the ground and leaped over to the headless figure. John went to a limp body lying motionlessly on a small pile of rubble. He didn’t bother with the equally lifeless form of Moriarty spread out on the ground near the pool.

John looked at Sherlock. He overlooked the fact that Sherlock had not bothered to shave or tidy his uncontrollable ebony hair. John also overlooked the red-rims around Sherlock’s eyes and the black sleeves that were torn in several places. John only saw the red smudge at the top right corner of Sherlock’s head. He checked Sherlock’s right wrist for pulse. There was none. John felt his heart sink.

Billy leaped over, carrying the headless figure on his outstretched stick arms. He dropped the seven-league boots at John's side and caught his attention.

"Sorcerer Mycroft made me to guard the bushes in the Waste," the mushy voice said. "When the Wizard of the Waste caught him, Sorcerer Mycroft spent the last of his magic to order me to come to his rescue. But the evil Wizard had already taken him to pieces and spread them around. It was devastating. I must thank you. If you had not come and talked me to life again, I would have failed."

John had an epiphany. "So the Prince's finding spells must have kept pointing to you?"

"Me or the skull, I should think."

"And Richard is made of Wizard Mycroft and Prince Augustus?" John wondered how Andrea was going to take this news.

"Both parts told me that the Wizard and his fire demon were no longer together and the Wizard could be defeated on his own," the scarecrow said.

At that moment, loud rumblings started and the ground began to shake. Large stones fell into the pool of lava and rubble hit John’s head from above.

“The mountain seems to be imploding now that its keeper is dead,” Billy said in his mushy voice. “We must leave now. The fire demon may be able to save your wizard.”

"But Miss Adler..." John protested. He had come here to rescue her, after all.

"She _is_ the Wizard's fire demon," Billy said. "She means to kill Sherlock's demon and take control of the wizard if we don't take his body back to the castle. Quickly!"

The scarecrow took giant leaps out the opening in the direction of Sherlock’s palace. John slung Sherlock’s body over his shoulders and put on the boots in the same direction as Billy. The speed of the boots and the wind under John’s feet seemed to take some weight of Sherlock off. As he moved, he could hear the black mountain loudly crumbling to the ground, far behind him. John didn’t care. All he wanted was to get Sherlock to Mike as soon as possible.

As soon as John burst into the castle room, he threw down his cane on his empty chair and gently put Sherlock’s body on the floor in front of the fireplace. Greg left Molly’s faint shriek at the bench and rushed over to the fireplace. Only Andrea and Richard’s unconscious body seemed to have been occupying the room with Molly and Greg.

“What’s happened? Sherlock went out to the Waste as soon as I’d told him you were gone when he came back from that London place,” Greg said to John with eyes wide open.

“Mike,” John said desperately, ignoring the boy for now. “I can't feel Sherlock's pulse at all. You can still save him, can’t you?”

Mike opened his purple mouth to answer. Instead, he looked over behind John with his mouth hanging open. Miss Adler was standing next to Sherlock’s violin, staring at Mike. She grinned wickedly and gracefully strode over to the hearth.

“Your Wizard is dead,” Mike anxiously said to the woman.

“Well, isn’t that too bad!” Miss Adler said, unconcerned. “Now I can make myself a new human who will be much better. The curse is fulfilled. I can lay hands on your heart now.”

She reached down into the grate and plucked Mike out. Mike clenched at the lump under him, shivering violently.

“Help!” he shrieked weakly.

“Nobody can help you,” Miss Adler grinned at Mike. “You are going to help me control my new human. Let me show you.”

With that, she squeezed at Mike. The fire screamed. Sherlock coiled into himself with a pained expression on his face. His eyes stayed closed.

“Stop! His heart’s really too soft for this! Let go!” Mike shrieked.

John was quite upset. He quickly got to his feet and made a grab for Mike from the woman's hand. Miss Adler staggered back until Sherlock's black chair stopped her and she fell into it. John grabbed Mike and Miss Adler held onto him tightly. Sherlock’s body was writhing in pain on the floor. Mike was screaming. John looked at Miss Adler’s determined face. With an equal amount of determination, John let go and skipped over to the workbench and grabbed the large vase of blue hydrangeas.

“Put her out,” he said quickly at the vase and dumped it over Miss Adler’s head. "Put her out!"

The woman’s loud hissing filled the room. John threw down the vase and quickly grabbed Mike from Miss Adler’s white hand then hurriedly stepped back in astonishment. The fire demon was melting at the touch of water. Soon, Miss Adler’s London clothing, and drips of water and blue hydrangeas from the vase were the only remains on the leather chair.

By then, everyone had come into the castle room. Harry was clutching Molly’s and Andrea’s hands at the bench, and Mrs. Hudson was dragging Greg away from Sherlock’s limp body. Billy was standing next to the headless body he had lain next to Richard.

There was really no time to waste.

“Mike,” John said to the flaming lump in his hands. “I'm going to break your contract now. Will it kill you?”

“It would if anyone else broke it,” Mike said hoarsely. “That’s why I asked you to do it. I could tell you could talk life into things. Look what you did for the scarecrow and the skull.”

“Then have another thousand years!” John said.

John carefully nipped Mike off the black lump. The fire demon whirled loose and hovered in front of John’s face as a blue teardrop.

“I’m free! Oh ho, I feel so light!” he exclaimed. The blue teardrop bounced into the grate and up the chimney.

John turned to Sherlock’s body with the lightly-beating black lump. “Go in,” he said to the lump desperately as he placed it on top of Sherlock’s chest. “Go back into your owner and work!”

John pushed the heart gently. The organ began to sink in, beating more strongly as it did so. John didn't hear Molly's astonished gasp of 'John's changed back!' as he kept pushing and pushing with his soft, pale hands.

As soon as the heart disappeared, Sherlock stirred. He groaned loudly and opened his grey-green eyes.

“I’ve got a hangover!” With that, he quickly got off the floor. “But I can’t stay, I’ve got to rescue my John.”

“Well I’m here!” John stood up and straightened his back. “Moriarty’s dead. Miss Adler’s… been put out. And Mike’s gone. I had to break your contract to save you.”

“Oh? We were both hoping you would. Neither of us wanted to end up like Moriarty and Miss Adler,” Sherlock said, a bit sadly. “Mike was always my weakest spot. A human error, I should say.”

“I thought London was?” Greg said.

“Oh, no. I had everyone think it was,” Sherlock said. “I knew I’d be angry enough to stop Moriarty if he tried anything there. Had to leave him an opening. The only chance I had of finding Prince Augustus was to use the curse to get near the spider.”

“So you _were_  going to rescue the Prince!” John shouted. “Why did you pretend to run away? To deceive the Wizard?”

“Psh, the Prince’s disappearance was the closest thing to a triple homicide around here!” Sherlock said. “I would never miss an interesting case for anything. And that topped with Sorcerer Mycroft… It was almost Christmas! Until you had to go and play into Moriarty’s hands! You almost ruined all my careful planning! I even went through the trouble of gathering your family here just to prevent you from leaving today!”

“Well, it comes of being the eldest,” John replied timidly. “I’m a failure.”

“Nonsense, John. You just never stop to think!” said Sherlock.  “And you’re much too nice. I was relying on you being too jealous to let the woman near this place.”

Sherlock looked at John fondly, and John looked back. Sherlock’s hand was coming up to John’s face, when a mushy voice was heard from behind.

“Erm, before anything else, could you do something about us first?” the scarecrow asked.

Everyone in the room turned to look at the headless body, the scarecrow, and Richard.

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock went over to the bodies.

The wizard held up both hands and mumbled strange chants. In an instant, the scarecrow vanished and two men in their early 30’s sat up from the floor, clutching their heads. They looked at each other and smiled. The man in the old grey three-piece suit had a long nose and ginger hair. The other in the brown uniform had a sharp face with light-brown hair and beard. The man in the suit conjured up a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles out of thin air and handed them to the man in uniform. The latter gladly put them on, and both men carefully stood up.

“Well, I’d better get back to my sister,” Prince Augustus said and turned to Mrs. Hudson. “Am I speaking to the head of the house?”

“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Hudson quickly brushed dirt off her dress. “That would be Sherlock. Or John, perhaps?”

“He will be shortly,” Molly said quietly, smiling from the workbench.

Sherlock turn to John and said, “I knew all along that you were the young man I met on May Day.”

“You mean you guessed.” John smiled broadly.

"I never guess." Sherlock reciprocated the smile.

Behind Sherlock, Sorcerer Mycroft walked up to Andrea. Now that he had his face back, he looked as sharp and strong-minded as Andrea. Andrea nervously smiled up at the gentle expression of the sorcerer.

“It seems to be the Prince’s memory I had of you and not my own at all,” the man said slowly in a soft, hushed voice.

“That’s quite all right,” Andrea said. “It was a mistake after all.”

“But it wasn’t,” Sorcerer Mycroft protested. “Would you let me take you on as a pupil at least?”

Andrea blushed at this and nodded. The sorcerer held out a hand and Andrea put her own on his. He gently kissed Andrea’s hand.

“Shall I continue addressing you as Andrea, my lady?” the man asked, smiling.

“Erm… Anthea,” Andrea said quickly. “I always thought that my name's much too… average.”

The sorcerer turned to Sherlock without letting go of Andrea's hand and bowed. "It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of meeting a fellow countryman," he said. "I am grateful for all your help."

Sherlock curtly nodded. Harry and Molly left the ex-Royal Magician and his new pupil at the workbench, and crossed the room to join Mrs. Hudson and Greg. Prince Augustus also joined in the small crowd.

“Now that that’s all settled,” Sherlock addressed John. “John, I believe it would be much more convenient for you to keep living with me. If you believe otherwise, live with me anyway.”

“Then you’d just exploit me,” John said.

It was true, he knew. However, it was also true that living with Sherlock would be much more eventful than anything.

“Could be dangerous,” Sherlock said.

"If you think that's enough reason for me to stay," John replied, "You're an idiot."

They looked at each other. As they both burst into a fit of giggles, Sherlock held John's face with both hands and pulled him in gently. If it wasn't for Sherlock's terrible breath from the stale alcohol of the previous night, his lips would have tasted like honey, John thought. But John tenderly kissed his wizard back, anyway.

"Yes, yes. Y'all seem very happy and dandy and all. But I've come back, if anyone missed me," loud cracklings suddenly interrupted from the hearth.

Everyone turned to see that Mike's blue face was flickering among the logs.

“You didn’t need to come back,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, I think I did. It’s raining mighty hard outside,” Mike said. “Besides, I think I’ll stay. So long as I can come and go, I'll be perfectly happy with this arrangement.”

 


End file.
